


Marauder

by KaraStorm



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-20 06:56:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 38,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4777805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaraStorm/pseuds/KaraStorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock is a young scientist on a Vulcan research vessel. When their ship is taken over by pirates, the marauding captain takes a special interest in him.</p><p>COMPLETE</p><p>Please note, the dubious consent warning is a *very* strong one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Boarded

"What happened to this one?"  

It was a male human voice, casually in charge.

"He actually put up a fight."

Boots stepped over his back, his legs. Equipment moved around.

"Put that in the hold. That can go straight to the engine room."

They were dismantling the ship. Taking apart delicate astronomical sensors and packing them rapidly away in hard sided cases, carrying the cases over his inert body.

The footsteps shuffled away. He couldn't move his fingers.

"What are we doing with the rest of them?"

"Should be good for ransom."

"That's not very interesting."

"I've never dealt with Vulcans before. I'm thinking, keep it simple."

New footsteps approached. "Look at these. Finest dilithium I've ever seen."

"Every haul has a prize you don't expect."

"I don't know how you sniff 'em out, sir."

Footsteps stopped beside him and he was tugged over onto his back. The force of the motion made his head loll to the side.

"He coming around?"

"He's drooling so I assume not."

The voice was close. He cracked his eyes open and looked up at the figure bending over him, feet on either side of his hips. It was a brown haired human with sharp hazel eyes.

Fingers took his jaw and turned his head straight.

"I take it back. He's coming around." The human looked him over with little regard for social propriety.

"We can take him, sir. Put him with the others."

There was no reply. He opened his eyes farther, met the hazel eyes straight on. They stared at each other. The human's hair glistened golden where the lights reflected off it.

He still couldn't move his fingers. If he could have, he'd have knocked the human silly.

"He's a feisty one." The human stood straight, propped hands on hips. "Put him in my quarters."

"Yes, sir. Orion tethers? Will it work on him?" This voice had a Russian accent.

"Give it a try. Be good to find out whether it does or not."


	2. Tethered

Spock could finally move his fingers. He had been placed on a comfortable bed built into the bulkhead with a decorative frame of some aromatic antique wood. The cabin smelled of intimate human habitation. The room contained a random inventory of objects. Mismatched monitors and controllers. A shelf with five pieces of art from far-flung locations in the galaxy, all of them lithe and airy, full of upward motion.

The human in charge of security had placed a pair of gleaming platinum bands just above Spock's elbows. When activated, sharp pain had burned deep in the marrow of his humerus bones. When he moved one of the bands around, it made the bone ache again. He suspected removing them by force would be physically costly.

No one came for more than two hours. Spock meditated lightly in defiance of the uncertainty of his situation.

The cabin door rumbled open and the hazel-eyed human entered.

Spock sat up, swung his feet to the floor. Whatever the bands were for, they allowed him to do this. The human seemed to think nothing of his action.

"Recovered?" The question was informational, stoic.

Spock wasn't certain how to answer. He felt shaky and weak.

"I'll take that as a 'no,'" the human said. “A good enough answer.”

The human moved with purpose to the cabinets in the corner of the room beside a mirror, pulled his tunic off and hung it up and resealed the cabinet with a hiss. A waft of chemical freshening agent came across the room.

The human wore three bright chains around his neck and three on each wrist, they contrasted with his warm skin.

"You are the silver pirate."

"That's an idiotic name." The human turned. "But yes. That's one of the things I've been called. And you are?"

Spock didn't reply.

"Shy, apparently," the human said mockingly. "Doesn't matter. And don't answer that. I like mysteries."

The human sat back on a broad soft chair across from the bunk. His smooth chest glowed in the cabin lights. He propped his leather boot up on the armrest, which appeared to be made of priceless amberwood.

"What is the status of my shipmates?" Spock said.

"They're all okay. Better than you. They behaved. They didn't get stunned."

"What do these bands do?" Spock indicated his arms.

"You'll find out." The human seemed to deeply enjoy saying this. "Isn't that what you do? Experiments?"

Spock nodded crookedly. There was no other logical approach to addressing the helplessness of his situation than to carefully collect data and remain aloof. He had not managed to control his emotions when their science vessel had been attacked and boarded. He needed to regain it, quickly, despite the unpredictable circumstances.

"You were the only one on that ship that put up a fight. Reason?"

"I cannot speak for the others."

The human smiled. The door buzzed. The human signaled for it to open.

A small woman with close cropped hair and a burn scar on the side of her neck stepped just inside. "They wiped the databanks. All of them. Couldn't even find a backup."

"So, nothing to lose if we trade the ship."

"No."

"Have Sawbones run scans. Use the Federation database snapshot fragments to try and sort out who they are. Even outdated, they should work. None of the captives are that young."

She nodded, glanced at Spock and departed.

The human said, "Tough to ransom someone if you don't know who might care to have them back. Did you wipe the data to protect what you were working on, or yourselves?" When Spock didn't reply, the human smiled. "Never mind. It doesn't work that way if you intended to protect yourselves. We can trade or sell you with the ship and you'll be far worse off than if you'd been ransomed, and we get nearly as many credits. And less hassle."

"Vulcans do not pay ransom."

"I have it on good authority that they do. They just claim they don't. For show."

The human stood up and came over to stand before Spock. He ran his fingers along the edge of Spock's bangs.

Spock tried to grab the human's wrist, and the next conscious moment Spock was on the floor. The human was crouched beside him, looking him over interestedly. The chains around his neck were each a different length and swung freely as a result.

"That's what the bands do. There are two in case one of them malfunctions. Or you figure out how to remove one of them. The other will render doing so impossible."

Cold horror trickled through Spock's gut. "You have taken my will."

"Actually. No. Just that part of it that gets out of line, tries to harm me or the ship."

"What about your crew?"

"They can fend for themselves. And they aren't sleeping with you a few feet away."

The human ran his fingers along the edge of Spock's bangs again, down the edge of the bone around the eye socket, down his cheek bone.

"Exquisite," the human said, sounding far away.

"I do not understand that statement."

"Good."

The human stood up.

"May I rise?" Spock asked.

"You may. If your motives are pure."

"I simply wish to return to the bed."

"Then the bands won't stop you."

Spock levered himself up to the bed. He felt even shakier than before, as if his nerves had been hyperstimulated and were now numb from overuse.

"They must be rather sophisticated devices."

"They are extremely expensive. And they are one use. Once they are on, they don't come off."

Spock managed a haughty tone. "I should be flattered, you are saying, that you would consider me worthy of them?"

The human's lips crooked sideways. "You ARE exquisite." He grabbed up a towel, winked and went out the door, silver chains glittering against his golden skin.

Spock stared at the closed door a while before he returned to light meditation. His discipline needed to be significantly higher than he was managing.


	3. Appraisal

Spock was left alone for more than an hour. He examined the food synthesizer port but did not find any vegetarian items in the short list it would produce. He used the head, washed up. When he passed the desk he saw that the monitors were left on. The likely system architecture came to conscious thought and following that, ways to reprogram it, subtly.

Spock woke up on the floor. He was shivering from the cold deck seeping through his robe. He pushed to his hands and knees, grateful there was no one there to observe this weakness. Then he suppressed the gratitude as a useless emotion. He suppressed everything.

The bunk was warmer. There was no blanket, but his robe should be sufficient insulation. He curled on his side until the shivering, a shameful human physiological trait, ceased.

Recovered, he stretched his limbs out as if on a meditation stone. He was strong enough for this. He need only bring his mental controls in line.

He let his mind touch upon everything that had happened and his reactions to them, starting from the first report of an approaching ship not responding to a standard hail. A cold realization settled over him. The strength he had assumed as inherent in himself had never been tested outside of highly predictable Vulcan society. He may actually be weaker than he comprehended.

The human returned. He rocked back against the cabin door for a few seconds, eyes closed.

Spock sat up, curious at this.

The human stretched his neck and pulled the towel off his shoulders. He sat down at his desk, began scrolling through information on several padds. He finally acknowledged Spock by looking up at him with tired eyes.

"Paperwork," the human said.

Spock said, "I would not have expected paperwork to be among the duties of a pirate captain."

"You would be sorely mistaken. If I don't keep careful track of who is responsible for what, who did what, and who earned what, I'd last a week before there was a mutiny. And the crew forms factions, so truth is usually a fluid concept subject to the moods of the group."

Face studious, he held the padd up beside the monitor and compared the two, made a few notes.

Unlike the others Spock had seen during the invasion of the ship, the captain had no visible scars. And he looked young, despite fatigue. Perhaps thirty earth years old.

Without warning, the human shut down the monitor, let the padd slap down on the desk and sat back, feet up.

"Tell me what you most wish for." He sounded harsh, despite the question.

Spock blinked. "I normally do not wish for anything."

"That's a way to go through life." The human put his hands behind his head. "Or is this a cultural difference that wishing just isn't done? How about a different question. What do you lack?"

"I assume my present circumstances are not prescient to the question."

The human shrugged.

"I do not know what I lack."

"At least you're honest."

"What do you lack?" Spock asked. He felt reckless and at the same time as if he were taking control. Inciting violence would at least bring some predictability to his situation. This cozy arrangement was untenable.

The human sighed. "What do I lack? Now that I have plenty of unflawed dilithium. I lack amusement." His face relaxed into an expression Spock didn't recognize. "That's where you come in."

The human sounded so confident, Spock had difficulty working himself into the meaning of the statement.

The human said, "You've already given me quite a bit of amusement. You just don't realize it. Ninety percent of amusement is anticipation." He drew in his lips. His eyes went up and down Spock's seated form.

Spock saw meaning in these gestures, but rejected the obvious conclusion.

The human went on, sounding hard. "But don't worry. I want you to enjoy what I do to you as much as I do."

Spock suppressed his reaction to this with level three disciplines. He stared at the human, unmoved.

"Cold. I like that," the human said with pleasure.

Spock shook his head faintly.

"What was that for?" When Spock hesitated answering, the human said, "If you don't answer in a handful of seconds the bands will punish you for it."

"I do not know what I have done to be singled out thusly."

"You stood out from your shipmates by your actions. You have an exotic beauty that I have difficulty leaving alone. The first was in your control. The second less so. Talking to you, I see that you are also an interesting puzzle."

"I am not particularly attractive for my race."

"I find that hard to believe. Or your race doesn't have very good taste. Just as well, I prefer you humble and confused on that count. Beauty coupled with self awareness of beauty is a wasteful combination."

The human got up and stood right before Spock. He had a scent reminiscent of the spices used to cook meat in the desert areas of earth. Spock forced his hands to remain limp.

The human freely ran his hand over Spock's head. It was such an outrageous gesture from a stranger that Spock froze in surprise.

"And your hair is unbelievably soft. Is there any positive attribute that you lack?" The human’s voice was softening.

"I don't know." Spock's answer was clipped.

The hand ran through his hair again, coarsely combing it. Spock corralled his emotions one by one as they emerged from his surprise: Offense, helplessness, anger, uncertainty that threatened to become something harder to control. Lurking deeper were emotions he did not think it wise to identify until he was alone with his thoughts.

The human's hand move over his ear, ran the edge and the point of it between thumb and fingers. Spock's abdominal muscles spasmed. His heart rate increased. The outrageousness of the act again sent him into a state outside control where his reactions didn't immediately penetrate.

What would a pure Vulcan be experiencing internally under such circumstances? Spock imagined a pure Vulcan would be feeling anger only at the offense. Spock concentrated on his own anger, reforged it into defiance and held himself rigid. His heart slowed to normal.

"That's more like it," the human said. "I was afraid you were going to simply give in there."

Spock felt his face flushing, suppressed that too. He imagined that he appeared as a pure Vulcan would. He felt as strong as one.

The human let his hand fall away. Smiled. Went to a high cabinet. Took out a bottle and a stout glass, put something hard into the glass and poured the liquid over it. The volatile odor of ethyl alcohol filled the cabin.

The human closed things up and stood leaning back against the wall, sipping the drink and contemplating Spock. He sipped over long minutes with patient regularity until the glass was half empty, brought it over and placed it on the shelf at the end of Spock's bunk. The ethyl alcohol scent streamed off the glass and the human.

Fingers slid under Spock's jaw, made him lift his head up. Hazel eyes looked him over in detail.

"Lie back."

Spock contemplated refusing. Every adult being had the right of self agency. But further injury to his nerves would make it more difficult to escape and that was his highest priority. Spock took his time lifting his feet, turning, resting back on the pillow.

The human sat on the edge of the bunk. Spock closed his eyes, began walling himself off. His mind and his body need not be connected.

"No no. Eyes open."

Spock fixed his eyes where a reinforcing plate had been bolted to the overhead. It was a damage repair point, but it had been done with care.

Fingers slid along Spock's collar to where the robe halves overlapped, parted them, met resistance. Two hands now, running along his front to find the clasps. Spock breathed normally even as fingers wiggled in to release the hooks.

Cool fingers ran down the skin of Spock's chest. Down to his abdomen. Slid over to his hip. Brushed across his lower abdomen to push the other half of the robe away. The heavy, layered fabric slid fully aside on its own, piled around him. The cabin air was cool, but fortunately unmoving.

"Well," came an appreciative voice.

A cool hand came to rest on his thigh. Spock kept his gaze fixed on the hexagonal bolts of the repair plate.

"You are beautiful."

The reverence in the soft voice undermined Spock's control, but he remained unmoving, unresponsive, painfully anticipating that the hand would move, acutely aware of the shifting pressure of the cool fingertips.

The hand withdrew and Spock did not feel the relief he should have. He felt . . . lacking. He suppressed the reaction the same as the others, but wondered at himself. Was this another previously unrevealed human weakness? He badly needed long hours of meditation, hoped the human would be driven soon to sleep and give him the opportunity.

Spock refused to look at the human, even as the span of inaction grew longer.

The human reached for the drink, clinked the hard objects around inside it.

"Want some?" the human offered.

"No."

"It's Saurian. Some of the crew actually take part of their pay in this. Sure?"

"I am quite certain."

The door buzzed. The human stood and went to open it.

The Russian accented voice said, "Everything not put in service has been stowed and secured, sir. Thought you'd like to keep the chipkeys to the lockers with you."

"Thank you, I would."

Spock sensed he was being looked at. There was an awkward gap.

"Anything else, Pavel?"

"We can sell most of it at Alperandon Two if we don't mind the diversion."

"I want to continue on course. We've still got stowage."

"Yes, sir."

The door rumbled closed.

"That worked well," the human said. "I have a certain reputation to maintain. If not constantly exceed."

He opened a safe under the desk, tossed the chipkeys into it. He picked up his drink again and sipped it while looking down at Spock, who had remained absolutely motionless. Spock felt precariously suspended between his disciplines and his body when the two should have rightly been in synchronicity.

The human said, "According to the Federation standard public database, Vulcans have strong social mores against discussing sex, depictions of sex, even childbirth. That true?"

"Yes."

"Probably why there are so few Vulcans."

"That has been postulated."

The human finished the rest of his drink and put the glass on the desk.

He sat on the bunk again so that his hip pressed Spock's arm to his side. He ran his index finger down Spock's sternum, lifted it before it reached his navel, placed his hand flat on Spock's abdomen and rested it there.

"The database also indicates that nearly every Vulcan is a touch telepath, but I don't sense that."

Spock breathed in, annoyed that it meant lifting the human's hand up and down. "What did you expect to sense?"

"Good question. Your thoughts on what is happening to you, I suppose." The human's speech was growing less precise.

The human shifted his hand downward, rested it on Spock's lower abdomen, an unexpectedly vulnerable spot that made Spock want to squirm.

The human said, "Given the interdiction in the Federation database about touching Vulcans, I'm surprised this doesn't elicit a reaction from you that I can sense telepathically. I'm disappointed. It was a dimension to my amusement that I was looking forward to."

"My control is suppressing my reactions."

"I see." He sounded smug. "I'm pleased to know you are reacting."

The human stood up, letting his fingers drift across soft flesh as he pulled them clear. Spock's abdomen spasmed again.

The human pulled one side of Spock's robe over him. The warm feel of its protection forced a noise of relief out of Spock.

"You can cover up. You clearly wish to."

The human returned to the desk, leaned his head back as if tired. He pressed a switch beside the monitor and spoke to the ship's bridge about course and status. He turned the switch off and stood, shucked off his trousers, and climbed into the bed in the rounded alcove beyond the desk.

Spock had sat up to properly rearrange his robe. He remained there, holding his robe closed, watching the human fall asleep.

He wondered what his shipmates were doing just then. He wondered what they thought of his situation, or if they knew he had been locked into the pirate captain's quarters. They were being ransomed before him, would return to Vulcan and be called in by his family to explain what had happened. He wondered if there was any way his family would not conclude that he was a criminal human's plaything.

The emotions that rose up in him defeated his disciplines. Spock neatly arranged and hooked his robe. He steepled his fingers, mercilessly regained his control. No matter the external stimulus he should rightly remain unfazed, his control undisturbed. It would be that way if he were truly Vulcan. He entered the first stage of meditation, intending to reach the deepest he was capable of. He needed to be much, much stronger and to do that he needed to understand what was happening to him.


	4. Fed

The pirate captain was out of his quarters a great deal. And when he was in them, he usually did paperwork or slept. Spock remained quiet to avoid attracting attention.

Spock grew exceedingly bored. He discovered that if his intent was benign, the bands would allow him to explore the room unmolested. The scent of leather drew him to a cupboard behind the desk. He almost decided it had a secret latch, but found the button to release it under the shelf above. The cabinet door slid away, revealing a long row of antique books.

Spock pulled out Tom Jones, and returned to the bunk to read it.

He could have read the entire cabinet by the end of three days, but that would leave him with nothing to do. He forced himself to read slowly, to create mental visualizations of what he was reading, even to try and analyze the purpose of the art, although that felt nearly hopeless. He knew nothing of earth literary critique beyond that it existed as an academic pursuit.

The captain returned, eyed the book on Spock's lap.

"Enjoying that? Which one?" He leaned over to look. "Ah, Fielding. There are a lot more books in storage if you are interested. Got them from a retiree's ship that had sent out a distress call because of a failed water scrubber. He claimed he couldn't pay in credits to ransom himself and his ship and we didn't need anything else he had."

Spock let himself sound critical. "The rules of space do not apply to you in the case of a distress call?"

"Not precisely. Most rescued ships are more than willing to donate to the cause."

He went to the synthesizer, keyed up a meal of bread and meat.

"Having something?"

Spock looked up. "I did not see anything vegetarian."

"It all comes from the same carbon-based paste. Does it matter?"

"To me, it does."

The door of the unit slid open and the scent of yeast and browned meat wafted out. "You haven't eaten at all, in four days?"

Spock faintly shook his head.

The captain took the little square tray to the desk and opened a connection to someone whose environment was noisy, ordered them to reprogram some new dishes that he listed off.

"I'm not trying to starve you into submission. You should have said something."

"I am more than capable of ignoring hunger."

The captain stared at Spock for a while before giving up and eating.

When the crewmember replied that the task was completed, the captain gestured at the synthesizer portal.

Spock had difficulty controlling the speed of his eating. He was quite hungry and somehow the human had stumbled upon one of his favorite earth dishes of seitan over fried noodles.

The captain put the empty tray back in the synthesizer portal. "We're docking at Grey's World in a few days. Your shipmates are being offloaded to a courier who is taking them home. We didn't identify them all, but the three we didn't are getting sent back with the others for a performance bonus."

Spock swallowed what he'd just bitten into. He sat up straighter. "What is your intended disposition for me?"

"I don't know yet. All I know is I don't like escaping my duties to hide in an empty cabin."

"Who was here before me? If I am allowed to ask."

"I've had a few passengers who paid their way by keeping me company. Don't worry you are more attractive than all of them. It's been a great while, though. We've been forced to remain on the periphery of explored space by an uptick in enforcement."

The human’s expression grew unknowable, strangely dark. "It’s not like you have any place to go. You can't miss Vulcan because you weren't there."

Spock did not respond. He had been skipped when the others were scanned for identification purposes. He did not want to remind the captain of that. In a pirate economy he was more valuable than all of his shipmates put together.

The captain stood up and came over to the bunk. He took Spock's now empty tray and put it away as well and came back. He pushed Spock's bangs back from his forehead, then smoothed them down again. Spock was prepared this time to be touched and needed far less control to suppress his reaction.

The captain asked, "Why were you in space?"

"That is where the best astroscience is conducted."

"There is the public excuse for going to space. And then there always is the real reason.”

“I have no contradiction on this count.”

You didn't leave anyone behind?"

The point of Spock's ear was traced with great casualness.

"In what sense?"

"Girlfriend? Boyfriend?"

"I have a betrothal bond."

"Ah yes, the database mentioned that. Very common to arrange marriages like that. Something about ensuring compatibility of minds as adults."

"That is the theory."

"You don't believe it works?"

Spock's hair was stroked out of place and smoothed down again, from different angles.

Spock tried to not sound pedantic as he said, "'Theory' means a neutral concept that does not indicate truth or falsehood."

"In common human speech, the way you used it, it implies the idea is faulty, but generally believed. It isn't faulty in your case? It would explain why you are so many lightyears from Vulcan if it were."

"May I inquire why it matters?"

The hand withdrew. “If I don't release you from the question, you'll be punished by the bands."

"The theory may be faulty in my case, or it may not, I do not know. I do not have any other data for comparison."

Spock's chin was tilted up. The human said, "As to why it matters, I want to see inside of you."

"Why?" Spock whispered this. He was truly confused. If not for this odd obsession, he'd soon be on his way back to Vulcan with the others. Or perhaps not. He'd have been identified and an unreasonable ransom demanded, or another buyer found.

The human said, "Why? Because you are intriguing."

"I am just a Vulcan you captured who was doing spectral data analysis and large dataset compression. I am no one."

"No. There's something about you. I've seen a lot of interesting beings in my travels and you rate up there with the most interesting of them."

He released Spock's chin and stepped away. Spock expected him to consume an alcoholic drink and then grow bolder. Instead, the human went to a different cabinet and pulled out a 3-D chess set.

"You're a quick learner, I assume," the captain said.

"My father taught me that game."

"I wasn't aware it was particularly popular on Vulcan. More so on earth."

Spock worried he'd given too much away. He gave no response since it wasn’t phrased as a question.

"Sit down here." The captain put a chair at one end of the desk and sat at his own desk chair.

Spock asked, "If I win, will I be punished?"

The human tilted his head and looked at him, mystified. "No. Of course not."

The human rapidly set up the board with lithe movements. His voice has lost the hardness it had earlier. "Do I seem that capricious to you?"

“I do not have enough data to ascertain that."

The human made the opening move with white without offering a blind choice. "I may give off an aura of arbitrary punishment because it keeps people better in line, as well as gives me more options if I'm particularly moody one day. Everyone should know it just might be their unlucky day if they cross me or just plain screw up."

Spock had to struggle to bring the game to a conclusion of a draw rather than a loss. His original concern that he would win too easily was grossly incorrect.

Spock looked over the board again before it could be reset. "You are quite good at this game."

The human's lips spread into a gentle smile. "Thank you. What is the cube root of e to the power of five point six?"

"Four point seven six three five two seven-"

"There's your problem right there."

"I do not understand."

The captain smiled. "Let's play again. I'm not giving you any help until I've won a few dozen games."

"You are optimistic."

The human smiled broadly this time, seemed at ease. "I haven't learned how you think yet. Once I have, you are in trouble."


	5. Bribe

Spock was left alone for long hours at a time. Sometimes nearly ten hours would pass.

He began experimenting with the monitor on the desk. He put himself into deep meditation and concluded that the desk monitor software must have flaws in its code. All software that was of any significant complexity retained flaws, despite even extensive testing. Having concluded this, he made it his intention to see if he could repair those flaws. That was not endangering the ship, that was aiding the ship.

He brought himself down out of meditation, keeping his benevolent intent firmly in mind as he stood beside the desk with the monitor turned sideways. If he were encountered on the floor, knocked down by the bands, he wanted it to be in a neutral area of the floor, not under the desk.

He held this discipline long enough to enter the monitor's maintenance mode. He managed to scan the code for flaws for nearly half an hour, finding several, but fixing none. He noted them all for later, as if to make a useful report for someone. The bands continued to allow this. He found an odd patch in the code for an extra layer of communications encryption, which had awkward hooks into the raw transmission data, he could easily disable or manipulate it. The bands sent him to the floor.

Spock woke up staring at the underside of the desk. The bands seemed to have tuned themselves to his nervous system and he did not feel as injured this time. That was beneficial since he intended to push their limits again. He rose up, intending to fix the monitor so that the captain would find it to his liking, not intending to hide his own activities. He saw the time on the monitor. He'd been unconscious for four minutes, twenty seconds. This sent a wash of uneasiness through him with the realization of how long he'd lain vulnerable and unaware before his captor in the past. Spock forcefully centered himself and reverted the monitor to its previous setting. The bands let him do this. Pleasing the captain was their purpose.

Spock returned to his bunk to meditate on the flaws he had found and how it might impact the function of the monitor. Carefully meditate.

The human returned for the evening, stripped off his tunic as usual. He approached Spock with the object he had under his arm when he arrived, a translucent bendable display that was designed for reading secure documents and did not allow for any data entry.

"You've been well behaved. So I loaded this with the last month's science publications related to astrophysics. Lucky for you all of that is disseminated for free. We're too far out to hack into anything or do an esoteric trade like that."

Spock accepted the paperdisplay, looked at the index of files.

"I am quite pleased to have this."

"I noticed you had gotten through eleven of the thickest books on the shelf and were trying to read as slowly as possible." He put his feet up on his desk. "And this way I can encourage you to behave as well as punish you by withdrawing something if you misbehave in ways the bands can't identify."

Spock read a paper on basic redshift comparison measurements just because it was available to be read. The captain worked at his desk, looking up frequently to watch Spock reading. Spock knew the captain would finish, would likely approach and freely touch him. Despite growing unexpectedly accustomed to the actual touch, Spock dreaded the commencing of it.

The human rubbed his eyes, put his head down on the desk. With his arms folded under his head, his shoulder muscles bunched up larger. He didn't move for many minutes.

Spock nearly asked if he was all right, then thought better of it and changed to a more intricate paper on measuring star core temperatures.

The captain's voice came out from between his arms. "You should be used to touching by now. You know how to give a backrub?"

"I have no knowledge of that. Vulcans never touch each other."

The captain raised his head. "I again submit that that's the reason there are so few Vulcans. And yes, I know, it's been postulated."

The human stood up and came to the end of the bed.

"Sit here at the end."

Spock held the paperdisplay in his hand and shifted down, intending to continue reading if allowed to. Hands came down on his shoulders, kneading, pressed into the deep spots between his shoulder blades and spine. His robe formed no barrier to the finger pressure.

The paperdisplay nearly fell from Spock’s hands. He made an unrecognizable tiny noise of pleasure without his volition. Frantic, he tried to regain control. But the hands were moving down his back, sucking up his control with each kneading movement. His body was bending forward in aid of the hands shifting lower. The human's thumbs rubbed outward from the spinal column, shifted down a little, repeated. Did this all the way down. Returned upward doing circles in the sheet muscles of the lower back, pushing Spock’s robe around as if it were part of his skin.

Spock was bent completely over his knees. The hands were back at his shoulders, soft on the high spots, pressing hard into the deep spots. They worked outward to the deltoid, then down the outer muscles of the back and back up beside the spine again.

The movement stopped. Spock slowly sat up, swallowed the excess saliva in his mouth. A hand remained on his right shoulder as the human stepped around to face him.

The human said, "That's a quick back massage. Nothing special."

Spock controlled his breathing, swallowed again. He expected a comment on his reaction, but none came. He backtracked in the conversation.

"You wish to have that done to you."

"Gently. I don't want the bands mistaking your actions for harm."

Spock stood up. His back felt alien to him. "I will not be as adept at it."

The captain sat down and rested his head on the desk again.

Spock stepped up behind the human, placed his hands in the same starting location on the human’s back, thumbs on the trapezius muscle. He felt queasy touching bare skin, more so human bare skin. It was simply not proper. But Spock’s body still quivered with the pleasing release of tension he’d been gifted and he could not in good social conscious decline to reciprocate.

Spock probed for each layer of muscle, the rhomboideus major, down to the latissimus dorsi. He had never used his hands as sensors on a living human like this before. The individual muscles shifted to the fore, descended again as the human adjusted his position against the desk.

Now that he knew the landscape, Spock put his hands at the shoulders again and visited each muscle, using the same kneading technique used on him, but adapting it as he sensed each kind of tissue reacting.

The human arched, made a sound of pleasure. Spock stopped, stunned by the impropriety.

"Keep going," came a breathy command.

With no choice, Spock continued, not stopping this time no matter the sounds of pleasure nor how similar he imagined they must be to that of mating.

He had traversed the human's back a fourth time, working down into inner layers of muscle once the superficial had relaxed from his ministrations. His hands were growing unsteady with the understanding of what he was engaged in. His controls were again falling away under another new circumstance.

The captain stretched his neck each direction. Sat up.

"You are a really quick learner."

Spock talked to cover his lack of control. "I attempted to take into account the small amount I know of human anatomy. As well as using my ability to sense undue electrical activity in the tissue, which is a cursory use of my touch telepathy."

The captain looked him over. "If you are hoping to get sold to a pleasure palace as a slave, you are going about things the right way."

"I would resist that to the point of death, which I am capable of initiating at any time."

The human's lips relaxed, but didn't quite smile. "Noted."

Spock stood where he was, uncertain what was expected of him.

"You're dismissed. If you want to be."

Spock returned to the bed. He entered mediation without waiting for the human to sleep or return to work.

The human sat back with his feet up, watched him, for far longer than a human should have found interesting.


	6. Too Much

Spock felt the ship drop out of warp. The human rose from his bed and donned a different tunic, a coarse one that glittered.

"We're in orbit around Grey's World. You are about to be the only Vulcan on this vessel."

Spock took that in. Nodded.

"You aren't allowed to have emotions. Even ones for self preservation." The captain went to the door. "Again, no wonder there are so few of you."

He returned six hours later, scented with a mixture of alien world and ethyl alcohol. Spock tightened his disciplines, put his hands up in the posture of meditation even though he wasn't engaged in it.

The human put a hand on the wall to make his way to the desk, which he sat on the deeply rounded edge of and rubbed his face.

"Negotiations with gray market traders always seems to involve a lot of drinking. The crew insisted on some leave at a pleasure palace, but last time I did that I almost lost the ship in a game of chance I didn't understand how to play."

He unsteadily leaned forward and tugged the tunic off. The chains glittered in the light.

"I thought since I have you, I'd just come back here."

Spock's chest tightened.

"I saw your colleagues to their ship, personally. By the way. Estimated travel time to Vulcan is eleven days. Don't bother wishing you were with them because you aren't going."

He peered at Spock. His expression was moody. "Stand up."

With reluctance, but with dignified control, Spock did so.

The human approached, turned Spock's chin side to side. "Look at you. You are locked away about as forcefully as I've seen you."

Spock wished he had figured out how the bands worked, how to disable or bypass them. This led to thoughts about how they might work, and how bypassing them might be accomplished.

He woke up on the cold deck with a cloud of alcohol scented breath around him. The human was crouched beside him, relaxed, observant. Spock's gut clenched in worry about what could have transpired while he was nonsensical.

"Did you do that intentionally?"

Spock shook his head. "It was an unintentional lapse in discipline."

The human traced a pattern on Spock's robe front with his index finger. "I do that to you? Give you lapses?"

"Apparently." Spock failed to mask his annoyance.

"You don't seem like you should frighten easily but sometimes I think I frighten you."

Spock did have moments of high uncertainty, but it was not like facing a le-matya as a child. That was true fear.

"I do not think it is fear. But I am not skilled at fine distinctions in emotional labeling."

The human laughed. "You are . . . beautiful." He rocked to his knees and put a hand under Spock's arm and tugged. "But you should get off the cold deck.”

He stood Spock up, then used him to balance. "I don't mean to scare you. Unless that would tell me something about you, then I would do so unabashedly." He blinked at Spock with his red-shot eyes. "I'm too drunk to harm you. Unless I make a terrible mistake in giving you a command that leaves you no ability to obey, in which case, I could kill you accidentally."

His face grew pained. "I won't give you any commands. None at all."

He let go of Spock's arm, bent over the desk, bent his head to his chest and curved his back as if stretching. He straightened, rubbing his neck. "No commands. So don’t worry.” He paced a bit unstably. Started to go to the alcove, but turned, came back and leaned on the desk again. “So, you don’t have to be locked away the way you are. Right now. You can relax.” He looked up at Spock.

Spock didn’t have much faith in a drunk human. He nodded in acknowledgement that he’d heard.

“I came back here to the ship,” the human said, rubbing his neck. “You could . . . Are you willing to give me a massage? That's all I want. That and sleep before I have to hunt down the stragglers in my crew so we can get off this ball of rock."

Spock hadn't been offered a true choice in many days. "I do not find it pleasing to touch you," he said, despite his concern that the human would forget his pledge in anger and severe harm would indeed be inflicted by the bands.

The human reacted to his words, flinched in his facial expression, drew away.

"I see." Back bent, he turned and strode away with a little hitch of instability.

Spock's social propriety spoke for him. "I did not intend emotional harm with my words."

"'So kay." The words were clearly pride saving. "You can't not be honest."

Spock watched him shuffle to the bed in the alcove, sit down, pull off his boots, fall sideways upon his pillow, legs still over the edge. Spock felt guilty and wondered if he were suffering the psychological effects of captivity already. Vulcans were not considered susceptible, but he wasn't entirely a Vulcan.

Spock rationalized that he needed to keep his captor pleased with him, psychology or no. Finding a middle ground may be critical to his survival.

"May I approach?"

The human sat up on the bed, rubbing his face. The silver chains shifted, became tangled.

"If you want." The human's gaze when it came up was piercing. "Why are you over here?"

Spock stood before him, hands at his sides. "I cannot afford for you to begin to dislike me."

"I can't dislike you. You're the most exquisite work of art I've ever seen. You have your own wants. You're a living being."

Spock wondered how that could be squared with his continued captivity inside a mind that seemed otherwise rational.

Spock said, "I believe I offended and in my culture that is unacceptable." This was an excuse, but not quite a lie. Spock felt acutely regretful in a way he needed to analyze once it was quiet.

The human said, "I suppose humans could simply disgust you. I hadn't thought of that."

"It is not disgust. I am culturally programmed to not touch."

"Children touch all the time."

"Yes. Young children are given an exception, but are trained as soon as they are able to understand."

"Why?"

"Because not all Vulcans can shield their minds sufficiently from telepathy. One does not know if the being they are encountering has their mind closed off enough to tolerate unexpected contact. An unwarranted telepathic connection is the most heinous of acts in our culture. It is the ultimate removal of privacy."

The human's face became thoughtful. "What you just said makes complete sense to me. So the reason I never sense your thoughts is you are well shielded, so to speak."

"Yes. In my family such disciplines are taken most seriously."

The human laughed lightly. "Sorry, not laughing at you. Ever been to Opotus Twenty?"

"No."

"They lick each other on the face to say hello, even strangers. It is disgusting and they think nothing of it. I couldn’t do it, even when it was horribly impolite to hold back."

The human rested back on the bed, put his feet up, hands interlocked over his abdomen. "I must need a long break if I got personally offended by your inability to overcome your culture." He closed his eyes. Opened them again. "You can go rest if you want." His voice was easy going, friendly even. "You don't have to repair things. Go on. If you want."

Spock remained. His own emotions were confusing him. "I can give you a massage if you wish."

The human sat up. "You're tormenting me here. I need you, but I don't want to need you right now. I'm sobering up enough-- If you give me a massage, it won't stop there. Given how much your mind and those bands interact, I don't want you hating yourself."

"Please," the human said when Spock failed to move.

Spock stepped back. "I fail to understand . . ."

"I know you don't. Your confusion is one of the best things about you."

Spock stood, more confounded. Ignorance could never be a good quality.

The human's voice was gentle. "Go on. Go rest."

Spock retreated to his bed. His emotions were a swirling mass inside his torso, not in his mind where he had a chance of containing them. He wasn't alarmed by the human's concern of something beyond a massage, whatever that might be; he hungered to find out what it was.


	7. Accord

Two weeks passed. The captain was quiet now when he was in the cabin. But he asked for a chess match nearly every day. Spock preferred these times, as his attention was entirely on something he could control. He expected the human to grow bored with his presence eventually and arrange to have him ransomed. He need only remain safe until then.

"Did you let me win?" the human asked, snapping out the question.

Spock shook his head. "I was experimenting. It was not successful."

The human set the board up again. "You take white. I can't believe I beat you fairly."

Out of the blue, as usual, the human told him what the ship's status was.

"We are docking at West Arm Station off the Utarus Nebula. We actually have an honest paid gig to escort a private ship."

"Is this other ship involved in illegal activities?"

"Not that I can discern from their records. Just a businessman who got in over his head doing business outside the protection of the Federation."

"You are not concerned that his enemies will overwhelm you?"

"Not really. We're much better gunned and maneuverable than we look from the outside, or even on scan. We strike back fast before the opponent has a chance to adjust." He made a move. "I like this sort of work when it leads to a fight as it usually then leads to selling the attacking vessel directly to the party that hired us for protection. It's just instant credits for firing a few torpedoes. But I am careful, despite my confidence talking about it."

They drew the next game. The human sat back and rubbed his eyes.

"Do you require anything else of me?" Spock asked. It was reckless to ask but he needed to avoid thinking about what must be happening on Vulcan right then. Even delayed, his shipmates would have arrived. His father could be sitting down right then interviewing the ship's pilot, the research project leads, his mentor. What would they be saying? What would the implications be?

The human said, "I'd love a massage. I assume that's what you are asking about since you don’t have a lot of duties."

"You have been considerate of me for longer than I would have expected you to be."

"I have been. I enjoy your company and I'm trying to preserve that. And I'm tired. I need a break. Pirate captain is a not a job with a lot of vacation opportunity."

"Really?"

"The kinds of ports we can stop at are full of people who will take your ship and your stuff and sell you into slavery."

"You mean, other pirates."

"Yes."

The captain turned on the monitor, pulled up star charts. Spock could see them from where he was sitting at the end of the desk. He had known roughly where they were based on where he’d been abducted. They were in the misshapen space pinched between the Federation, the Klingon Empire and three other minor star civilizations that were hostile to each other and the Federation. He was pleased to see they had not journeyed significantly away from Federation space, although they had journeyed many light years.

The human said, “Your ship was well outside protected space.”

“That is where the phenomenon was that we were measuring.”

“It was reckless to be out this far. No one owns this space and if anyone tried, they risk starting a war where everyone loses, and over what? There’s nothing here but trading posts that are willing to move goods between near enemies. If it hadn’t been us who picked you up it would have been someone else, and you likely wouldn’t have fared as well.”

The human breathed in and out. The star charts shifted, zipped around, rotated. "I used to spend a lot of time seeking out little-explored worlds and spending time on them, but it's hard to keep a greedy crew in line on a pristine sandy beach after more than a few days. They all believe the next big score is just outside the sensor range and you are keeping them from it."

The human sounded far away. "There are a few worlds around here that I've stopped at before. Maybe after this next trip."

He stood up and went to the head. Spock's keen ears could hear his movements through the door. He picked up his paperdisplay and continued reading where he had left off.

The human had predictable patterns that eased Spock's uncertainty. It was a change in pattern that caught his attention and drew it away from reading an article on singularity modeling. It was a soft, repeated noise, a faint slapping. He assumed it was some irregular grooming until the small noise of pleasure.

Spock's entire body felt prickly. The soft slapping noise hadn't grown any louder, but it became the focus of Spock's attention. Vulcans were incapable of self pleasuring. Spock himself was somewhat capable, but had been punished so severely that he had never even considered attempting it again, even as an adult. Doing so would also mean admitting he was not in the least bit Vulcan.

The forbidden noise stopped. He tried to construct a mental image for the mechanics one might use if well practiced at it. He began sweating into his robes.

Spock bent his head over the paperdisplay resting against the desk, determined to pretend he had not heard anything when the door slid open. But the sonics and water spray came on instead.

Spock was intently reading a third paper by the time the human re-emerged.

Still wrapped in a towel, the human came over to stand before him. "I'd love a massage if you are willing."

Spock understood. It was so unusual to understand human things that he experienced a flush of pride. The human had negated the risk of the activity escalating into something else.

Spock stood up, hands at his sides and waited for further instructions.

The human lay down prone on his bed in the round alcove. "I hope I'm clean and not too disgusting."

"It is not disgust in a sense of avoiding an exchange of microbes, like your cultural example of Opotus Twenty. It is entirely to do with telepathy. But perhaps the cultural imperative to avoid touch has a similar poignancy in the Vulcan mind."

Spock put his hands on the human's upper back. The flesh was already softer than last time, stretched out and bunched up differently by the positioning of his arms at his sides.

Spock knew where all the muscles were already, so he started in around the shoulder blades.

The human made a lot of the same noises of pleasure. Spock found them more amusing now than off-putting.

"This was worth waiting for," the human mumbled into his pillow. "You okay?"

Spock stopped. He had been so involved in the activity, he had forgotten his reticence. In truth, he found the muted scent and the cool flesh pleasant, the deeply embedded taut muscles an offense to what was an otherwise healthy human specimen.

"Yes."

"I'm relieved."

"You have lost your aggressiveness toward me." Spock wondered why he had said this. Recklessness to gain some control, perhaps.

"I was feeling out of sorts when you first came on board. We'd had a lot of bad luck. I'd had a lot of bad personal luck. I was to the point of just taking what I wanted, which is how I get if things go wrong, just so you're warned."

"I consider myself warned."

Spock worked the muscles of the lower back just above the towel. He wondered what the reaction would be if he removed the towel and continued. Likely positive. Too positive. He lifted his hands.

"Are you sufficiently rubbed?"

The muffled voice held amusement. "Yes."

Spock returned to his bed and put himself into deep meditation. He was feeling deeply curious about human things that he should not be. There should be enough strength in the disciplines he'd sacrificed for his entire life to allow him to negate this curiosity and find stability in his mind. There must be.


	8. Torn Asunder

Another nine days passed. Spock had never been so up to date on recent science publications. He wished he could send correspondence to some of the authors, asking for clarifications on methodology or commenting on conflicting results from other papers. He previously would never have considered it worth the researcher's time to hear his questions.

He continued to be alone most of the day. He worked out an exercise regime using the floor and the strong metal edge of the projecting bed and did it four or five times a day. He requested more variation in the food synthesizer and was allowed to create his own customizations for it. When alone, he worked on "repairing" the monitor's code, had developed a thought discipline of his own making strong enough that he had not been punished by the bands again for it. He improved the code by repairing bugs that contained functional subtle changes that might help him later but did not harm the ship.

The monitor seemed to have no hooks into the ship’s main systems, just the programmatic interfaces to communications, so his impact was limited.

The human requested chess often, even when he was exhausted. If he didn't pull out the chess set, he pulled out the alcohol, and Spock sat in stillness, fingers exploring his hair and ears, slipping inside his robe to massage his shoulders, often from the front. He was growing accustomed to this contact, cool hands inside the heat of his robe. His father would be appalled.

They were playing chess tonight, but the hazel eyes were giving him the kind of attention that usually preceded physical contact.

Spock felt the deck shift. Looked up at the human who seemed to not have noticed anything odd.

It happened again. The human moved a pawn a level down. Looked up for response.

“Something wrong?"

The human sounded sincerely concerned even though his tone was sharp. Spock shook his head. He was experiencing something amiss with his inner ear, perhaps.

Spock focused on the pieces despite feeling unwell. Made a move.

The human said, "You are off today."

Spock realized he was about to be put in check and from there in mate in at most four moves. He placed his own king on its side. He worried what was wrong with him, but the consequences of revelation of his identity were worse than an aberration in his senses.

"I'm tempted to pummel your ego with another game, but I won't." The captain stood up, placed the board aside in the cabinet. "You aren't missing some essential nutrient in your diet or something are you? The synthesizers fake a lot of the variation in the food and that can cause deficiencies. You're the first Vulcan I've kept as a pet, so I don't know your needs."

Spock steadied himself, determined not to reveal how odd he felt. "I do not believe diet is the cause. I am in need of meditation, if that is allowed at this time. This issue is a thing of the mind." He said this to deflect further inquiry or a call to the ship's medical, but it felt true. He did not feel physically disturbed, except as a consequence of his mental disturbance.

In the dimness of the cabin, long after the captain had gone to sleep, Spock needed great effort to meditate deeply. He moved through the layers, feeling distress at unexpected moments, until he came to the core of the disturbance and discovered what was amiss. His betrothal bond was gone.

Spock moved to a lighter level of meditation to ponder. Had his family written him off as dead? Wouldn't a Healer be able to detect Spock's presence when removing the bond? Or had T'Pring removed it herself? She had made it clear many times that her preference for a mate lay elsewhere. Had she used this opportunity to make an otherwise politically impossible change in her situation?

Spock gave up on meditation and lay on his stomach on the bed, arms under the pillow. The agitation in his mind was still affecting his body and he felt vaguely nauseous. The betrothal bond had required two Healers working together to form permanently. He had wanted it at the time because he was supposed to want it. But by his teens, he had begun to question its usefulness to himself. And now this many years later, it was not a surprise that T'Pring had as well. His perspective on the situation was suddenly clear, oddly enough given his circumstances, unemotional.

He slept by setting his mind into a light meditative state and ceasing active control of the state. This rarely failed to work.

He was woken by a familiar hand on his back.

"Were you asleep?"

Spock sat up, but the room seemed to swim. "Yes. I am suffering a minor disturbance of the mind. Sometimes sleep works better than meditation."

The captain was dressed nicely again. He had a single chain outside his tunic. It glittered almost as much as the tunic top. "I'm going to be on the station for a while negotiating with this client. Are the bands harming you?"

"No."

"Good, because I don't know how to take them off, even to save your life." The human sounded relieved. "It may be a while before I return."

Hours stretched into a day. Spock found meditation hard to achieve. He found himself too agitated to exercise more than a few minutes at a time.

He paced. He contemplated the bands' functionality, forcing them to knock him unconscious. He did this several times, prodding at edges and ports on the skin side of the bands with small gold wires he'd pried off of some broken jewelry he found scattered in a box. But the bands had adjusted to him, and he felt no ill effects from even repeated knockings down. He wondered how much total power they had, and was knocked out for even wondering.

He picked himself up from this latest incident, feeling stronger rather than weaker. Emotion had full hold of him and he did not care.

The door buzzed.

Spock went to it. The external lock indicator was green. He triggered the door to open. The ship's security officer, Pavel, the Russian, stood there.

"Captain Jim said to tell you he's going to be another day. Wants to know if you have a message for him."

"No."

Pavel looked Spock up and down with a leer. He was the one who'd seen the captain stripping him the very first day.

Spock said, "I am told the Orion tethers do not protect anyone in the crew." Spock took a decisive step forward with no interference from the bands.

Pavel jumped back. "Stay put." He had a weapon out. "I don't care what you are to the captain. I'll take you down if I have to."

Spock triggered the door to close between them, locked it from his side, which matched up the lights indicating it was now locked from both sides. He leaned against the door, face against the cold metal. 

The pirate captain had a name.

Another full day passed. His fatigue grew and his agitation began to starve for energy.

The human captain returned, smelling of alien foods and aromatic smoke. His authentication overrode both locks.

He stepped inside, all business, put his outfit in the freshening closet. Spock remained on the bunk, cross-legged. He'd been trying the first taught form of meditation for children and finally succeeding. He was not pleased at being interrupted.

"My security chief claims you threatened him." The captain pulled on his usual tunic and turned. "He just had a message from me. That's all."

Spock turned to him. He longed for something to be violent against. The bands knocked him down.

He came to awareness being picked up off the floor, bodily lifted under his back and his knees. The human put him down on the bed with undue care, arranged his still recovering limbs.

"What the hell,” the captain said. He sat beside him and placed both his hands over Spock's wrists, which was ludicrous. Spock could toss him across the room and break him in half. Theoretically. 

The bands knocked him out again.

As soon as awareness of the hands on his wrists came through to Spock’s senses again, the captain demanded, "Do you know what's wrong with you?"

Spock nodded.

"Tell me what’s wrong."

"Why are you leaving me no choice?" Spock tossed his head. This was more private than his physical body.

"Quickly.”

Spock turned his head away. He had loathed the bond, but it had been a truly Vulcan thing. One of the few he'd had. He held back until he was knocked out again. It was the one thing he could control. He couldn’t control his father’s will that had left him betrothed to someone who had spent all of Spock’s youth and nearly a decade after making it clear he wasn’t desired. But he had control of this.

He lost consciousness again, blissfully.

The human’s voice grew fierce. “I’m going to have to call medical and you aren’t going to like Sawbones. What’s. Wrong?”

This was a different kind of threat. "My betrothal bond has been severed."

His wrists were released. A hand came to rest on Spock's forehead, petted his hair. It was the same attention as always, but it came through Spock's agitation and shattered control in a whole new way. Calm settled over him in the form of irrational grasping hope. His limbs lost the tension that had been building for two straight days. He made a sound of pain at the realization of how susceptible he was to this human.

"Do you know why it was severed?"

"No."

"Could they believe you're dead?"

Spock's voice sounded weak. "I would not have believed so previously. But it is not my area of expertise."

"Database says the bond is usually formed between seven and nine. How old are you?"

"Twenty seven."

"You've had that betrothal bond twenty years?" He sounded shocked. "Yes. Obviously. Don't answer that."

He put his hand on Spock's collarbone.

Spock pushed past the comforting hand and sat up. He preferred the agitation to this human induced satiation. He was Vulcan.

The captain stood up and bodily blocked him from rising. "Hey, hey. Relax. I don’t want the bands to keep punishing you repeatedly."

He massaged Spock's shoulders through his robe, pulled him against his chest, pressed his head tight against him. "Relax."

Spock had no choice about anything. He was breaking down. His mind and his body were coming unmeshed.

A division formed in the wall of Spock’s panic. A sound had reached back into his mind, beyond the scars of the betrothal bond. Buhwhoosh dum. Repeated. It was the human's heartbeat.

Spock hung limp, transfixed by the sound. He adjusted the position of his head on the human's ribcage, pressed his ear tighter. The noise filled his thoughts.

Fingers played with his hair, rubbed his neck and shoulders. Spock was transported to a past he'd forgotten, when he was young enough to be allowed to be human or to be himself.

The human held him in that position a long time, thirteen minutes, seven seconds, likely would have held him longer.

Spock straightened and was released. He felt strangely empty, but not in a painful way, in a way that held potential.

He felt deathly embarrassed.

Jim sat down beside him, arm loosely behind Spock. "I can read your face. There is no reason to be ashamed. I take great pleasure in your inner workings getting revealed."

"I cannot help but be ashamed."

"Then I won't order you to stop, even though I want to." Jim rested back against the decorative wood, hand circling on Spock’s back.

Spock stepped through his emotions, the new sense of his mind. He felt adrift, but also unconstrained. There were no logical paths from here, no disapproving instinct that was not his own, only the natural landscape of his mind.

"I am free."

"That's nothing to be ashamed of."

"It is for a Vulcan. Being a Vulcan is about responsibility, duty to logic." He put his hand over the Orion device on his right arm. It still made the bone hurt to shift the band around. "I am freer now than I was, despite these."

Jim said, "Honestly, I'd almost be willing to take those off you if I knew how."

Spock stared at the wall, thinking of T'Pring, the pain of trying to be something he could not ever pretend to be, the certainty that she was in a betrothal bond with him solely because his branch of the family was more influential, the slow poison of her rebellion in his mind.

"It does not matter.” Spock felt disconnected, newly awakened from a dream. 

Spock said, “I think. I think that I willingly trade this bondage for this freedom."

Jim sat up, hand still on Spock's back. "My God. Really? Why don't you think it over before you assert that."

“No, I am certain. Is there nothing you would trade everything else for if you only knew there was such a trade?”

Jim started to speak, but stopped. He said, "It's not so much trading outright as being willing to close doors so you can open others."

Spock distantly said, "Of course. That is a better analogy. I have been closed off but I am not locked inside, but out."

"You are worrying me."

"No need. I will recover. If it has not killed me yet, I will recover."

"I like that sort of thinking.” Jim stood and pulled Spock to his feet. “You need to rest. Come here.”

He reached for a switch on the desk, told someone that he was not returning to the bridge and to not disturb him except for an emergency.

Jim smiled crookedly as he drew Spock into the round alcove. "Pavel told everyone you were out of control. I like what being here with you this evening does for my reputation. If you are in charge and aren't a little crazy as well as strong, someone will try and take over."

Jim slipped out of his clothes except for his briefs and lay back on his bed in the alcove, reached a hand up. His skin glowed. His jewelry glittered.

"Come on."

Spock ignored the hand and lay in the ample open space. He closed his eyes. He dearly wanted to lose consciousness and wake up reforged as someone without all this difficulty. The nearby heartbeat lulled him into sleep.


	9. Captain

Spock woke up confused about his situation. The human lay on his back beside him with one hand tossed over his head, chest high, abdominal muscles stretched taut. His necklaces had slipped back, sinuously piled behind his neck.

The human opened his eyes. "Good morning. Still alive?"

"Yes."

Jim reached out, touched Spock’s temple with the backs of his fingers. Then his eyes shifted away and he pulled back.

Spock felt the needs he’d tried to suppress for weeks rise up inside him. He forced himself to lay still, balanced his muscles even if he could not balance his emotions. Beside him the human was breathing more loudly.

In one motion, Jim rolled over and straddled Spock, knees on either side of him. Spock reacted poorly to being dominated and the bands knocked him cold.

He woke up with the human still above him but with his robe front fully open, fingers stroking his lower abdomen with slow patience. The human likely had been doing that for many minutes. "Try again."

"Try what?" Spock's voice sounded strained to his own ears.

"Try and adapt to me. You've been very good at doing so." He leaned closer, tracing a line along Spock's clavicle where his robe was loose.

The communications chimed, calling the captain to the bridge.

"Damn."

The captain got up, pulled on his clothes while moving to the door, and was gone.

Spock breathed in and out harshly now that he was alone and the human wouldn’t hear it. He’d been on the verge of passing out again, or accepting the human’s dominance as an act of survival. He was relieved to be released from that quandary, but felt the room’s emptiness as displeasure with all existence.

It irked him to not have a single obvious logical conclusion to these situations. He rested back and, despite the human’s metallic, sea-like scent permeating the air around the bed, attempted to meditate. He must find the core of the emotional need inside him and suppress it, wall it in before it undid him from the inside.

Even with second level meditation, the deepest he could manage right then, he could not touch the needfulness. Reaching for it, pondering it, attempting to comprehend it seemed to be making it grow stronger and that alarmed him. He broke the meditative state rather brutally and sat up, hitched his arms around his knees and remained that way, thinking about nothing, letting his mind wander.

He was certain of nothing, which was not a basis for any logical system of thinking.

His eyes fell on the silver edge of the monitor on the desk that he could see around the corner of the alcove.

Spock assumed the captain would be engaged with important ship’s activities and that he could safely explore the monitor again. Due to his tattered state of mind, it required nearly two hours of sedative meditation to reach the necessary mindset. But he managed, only getting knocked cold twice, to program the monitor to act as a dummy rebroadcaster for the ship’s basic status, and the audio from the bridge.

He sat in his captor’s chair and listened and watched the data streams from the ship’s overview systems. Very little was happening. They were escorting the client’s ship, the tonnage and vector for it were in the status fields. The bridge crew were bantering rudely about each other and the client. Sexual innuendo was a common theme, as well as comparisons to non-intelligent alien life forms. But the banter did not result in fights as one might expect, given the harshly insulting nature of it. Oddly, they seemed to be enjoying each others company as part of this activity.

The captain remained out of it, mostly. His voice came through for things of actual importance, the ship’s position and course, its mechanical operations, the status of nearby dangerous astronomical objects. Within minutes it would have been clear he was the leader even with no other information.

Spock’s emotions settled. It was a relief except he wasn’t certain what had precipitated it. Perhaps it was merely being safely alone coupled with having some real-time data about the universe, the cold solidity of streams of numbers on a computer screen.

“Warp five point eight, Captain, pacing the Escape as she increases speed.”

“Why don’t they just pick a speed,” a whiny voice asked. “Great Ape Escape. Grape Ape Escape.”

“Should I drop shields, sir, conserve power?”

“Leave them up. We don’t need the power at this velocity.”

Long minutes later. “Escape continues to increase speed. Now five point nine eight.”

The captain said, “It is strange they aren’t just picking a speed and staying with it.”

“In two hours our course passes inside the orbit of G8921-3’s moons, sir. They are charting a straight line from West Arm to Kittery One.”

“As long as we aren’t going to hit anything.”

“Maybe they have an actual honest to God ape at the helm,” the whiny voice said. “Wouldn’t that be funny?”

“Give me a star chart with the course.” A pause. “There are a lot of systems in a very small area here.” Another pause. “Still a brute force way to plot a course.”

Hours passed. Spock sat listening to every minute of it, calmed by the responsible nature of every task carried out. He’d rarely been on the bridge of the science vessel, that area being reserved for the three highly skilled pilots who rarely mixed with the scientists. The bridge operations were complex and interesting, all of the ship’s systems coming to an apex where they all must function precisely, in sync.

The captain’s voice. “We’re entering the G8921 system and quite out of sensor range of anyone else, aren’t we? Charge the hidden phaser bank reserves and load the torpedo tubes.”

“Yes sir.”

Spock’s midsection ached at the wasteful violence, the acute disappointment in the human he thought he understood, at least somewhat. The crew didn’t even seem surprised by the order. But they did go quieter.

Time passed.

The ship shook.

“Hit on our port shield, captain.”

“Who was it?”

“A vessel that just came out from behind the third moon.”

“Take evasive, put us between the client and the attacker and maintain that as much as possible. Return fire once you have established position.”

Realization eased Spock’s emotions. Jim had prepped the ship’s armaments knowing instinctively that they were in elevated danger.

The ship trembled more violently. The lights dimmed and remained dimmed. Spock worried that the ship he was on would be destroyed. Or that it would be disabled and boarded in turn. As Jim asserted, Spock could do much worse as a prisoner.

Spock and the ship’s complement were relying solely on Jim’s decisions for their lives. Spock wasn’t alone in being in Jim’s hands. No wonder he seemed to think little of taking Spock’s life into his possession the way he had done.

“We’re getting hit from both sides.”

“Are we now?” Jim sounded amused.

“Launch all three torpedo banks at the original attacker.”

The ship lurched. A long pause.

“Direct hit. They are listing, captain. All internal pressure lost.”

“Escape is turning away, gaining speed.”

“Chase them down. Wear down their shields until they fail. Then cease firing. Assemble a boarding party.”

“Aye, captain.” This voice spoke with great relish.

Minutes later, an excited voice said, “Shields are down.”

“Issue an ultimatum to them.” The captain’s voice said, “First Mate, take over. I’ll be back.”

“Have fun,” a voice said.

The bridge crew began bantering happily about what would happen to the client who had led them into a trap. Even Spock had to agree that there was a certain degree of suitability to the end result of that treachery.

Spock listened into the ship’s operations, watched the myriad different feeds, until the boarding party was returning. Then with great concentration on his motives, he returned the monitor to its previous state.


	10. Revealed

The sounds of human celebration penetrated the cabin door, then faded.

It was hours before the captain returned.

He drop chipkeys on the desk and stepped straight over to Spock. He took Spock’s head between his hands and bent and put his mouth on Spock's, working Spock's unresponsive lips with his own.

The human stood straight, peering down at him, eyes full of lively emotion.

"What I could hear did not sound like things went poorly," Spock said.

"They went brilliantly. We were tricked, and we defeated two ships. I'm tempted to take over and move onto the one that hired us. It's a pleasure palace on the inside, but I fear that's what I'm intended to do and it's another trap, and it’s not outfitted properly for fighting, only for defense. Instead, we can sell it and upgrade this one with everything we've talked about as a crew. The other was destroyed." He stared into Spock's eyes. "Did I forget to mention I get aggressive when things go exceptionally well, too?"

"Yes, you neglected to mention that."

Kirk kissed him again, spreading saliva that cooled rapidly around his mouth. Spock sat motionless until it ended.

"That is an illogical gesture."

"Doesn't do anything for you?"

"No."

"Vulcans don't kiss?"

"No. And correct, there are not very many of us. For various reasons."

The human smiled broadly and backed off. He sat heavily in his desk chair and leaned back.

"This is not quite the gold mine the crew is always dreaming about, but it's close. Someone tried to play us, intending to take our ship. They overhear you trying to do a trade at a port bar and shadow you, come up with some cockeyed plot." He chuckled. "It's always in the back of my mind what I would be doing if I were my client. Fortunately for me. Especially a client picked up in a port like that one. We can’t take better clients because we have to go from gray port to gray port with as little patrolled space as possible in between."

He turned on the monitor and did some accounting aloud, reveling in it.

The door buzzed and a new figure entered. A thin human male with a round face.

"Sawbones," the captain said. "What do you need?"

"Chasing you down. The usual." He set a battered old bag on the desk, glanced sharply at Spock, and waved a scanner under the captain's nose. "Jim, You'd drop dead if I didn't always chase you down." He pulled out a hypo. "Pull up your sleeve." Shot the human with it. "Let me see that hand. Yeah, infected. It will move to the bloodstream soon."

He sprayed the human's battered knuckles, gave him another hypo full of something in that arm. "Damn fist fight when you have a phaser. What the hell's wrong with you?"

"It's more satisfying."

The doctor put his hypo away. "How's your exotic robotic sex slave faring?"

Spock looked up sharply at the words, but then noticed the scanner pointed at him.

The doctor casually glanced at the back of it, pulled his head back. "We never IDed this one."

"It didn't matter. I was keeping him."

"Oh, I think it matters." The doctor tossed his things into the bag and went to the door.

The human stared at the closed door. "What'd he get off a scan that quickly?" He turned to Spock. "You actually look scared."

Spock wasn't certain if that question had been directed at him. Either way, he didn't reply and the bands knocked him out as a result.

"That was silly." The human was sitting beside him on the bunk. He'd changed into his casual tunic and combed his hair. "And much less dramatic when you fall on your own pillow."

A hand came down on his shoulder. "You all right, Spock?"

Spock drew his lips in. Bit them. The human smiled.

"I like that name. Spock." He clearly relished the word. "But it isn't your name that's really interesting. And it isn't even that you are half human. Shockingly that's not the most interesting thing, given how unusual that makes you. No, what makes you really interesting is that you are the son of the Ambassador to the Federation and the grandson of a high ranking member of the Federation Council. That's where things get truly absolutely interesting."

The human patted Spock's shoulder. "No wonder you panicked. You were the most identifiable of your shipmates and the most valuable, and you slipped through the cracks by being beautiful and compliant."

"I was not that compliant."

The human laughed. "No. Your honor is intact, but we can take care of that." He tracked Spock's neck along his collar with the back of a finger. "I told Sawbones to keep quiet. He's usually pretty good at that."

Spock raised a brow. "You know who I am and you still intend--"

"You are now irresistible." Jim leaned close, spoke into Spock's ear. "I love power. That's what your family is. Power."

Spock's ear lobe got nibbled on. The lips worked across the cartilage, up to the tip of his ear where they spent an inordinate amount of time. Spock began to sweat, put his controls better in place, but could not entirely lock down his reactions, which were warming his body, making his senses more acute, which further increased the sensation of the human’s attentions.

Jim said, "Here I thought I had a Vulcan who had been acclimated to being touched, but in reality I have a half human who has learned how nice it is to be touched. For once."

Fingers went through Spock's hair. The breathy voice continued in his ear. "You must have had a tough childhood, always doing the wrong thing, trying to get your needs fulfilled. Punished for trying to fulfill them."

Spock didn't react.

"Have I got that right?" After a pause, the human said, "If you don't answer you are going to start to suffer nerve damage."

"I made it through childhood the same as any other Vulcan child."

The human sat up. "Is that how you view yourself?"

"I am a whole being. Not two halves."

"Interesting."

Fingers worked his robe open, stroked his chest. Spock could feel the edges of the dermaskin on the back of the human's hand when he changed direction of stroke.

"You are as exquisite as ever."

The hand lifted away, rested on his robe just above his genitals. It was an untenable location, too close, but not close enough.

The human took a deep breath, let it out again. Bit his lips. Took another breath.

"I'm giving you permission to tell me to stop."

Spock felt chilled. He had grown unaccustomed to having a say.

"Logically . . ." He began, but it wasn't that unequivocal. He didn't know himself, which was the entire point of Vulcan disciplines. Somehow, despite twenty five years of meditation, he was a mystery to himself. He only knew the rules he was supposed to follow. But they were failing him. Logically, he should try adjusting his own set of personal rules to account for the gaps. But as his disciplines fell short they’d been supplanted not by his own inner strength but by needs he could not contain.

"Take your time." The voice was gentle. "I will leave you be if that's what you want. Or, since that's a kind of blackmail, I will give you a nice back massage and then leave you be. I don't want to imply that you lose all affection from me if you don't give in completely."

Spock was trembling. Those aching needs were reaching out to that voice for succor.

"I am uncertain," Spock managed to say, not to stall, but because he dearly needed help.

"I was simply going to decide for you because I'm pretty good at reading the signs. But you are more intellectual than most. Do you want me to decide for you? That leaves you the option of hating me, which has its upsides."

Spock brought his gaze to the human's sharp hazel eyes.

"I am too programmed. I cannot decide for myself."

Human fingers parted his robe all the way down, and the cool air of the cabin kissed his exposed body. Jim's sculpted, human scented body leaned over him, tantalizingly close. His chains brushed Spock's ribs.

The same fingers that had been combing his hair, slid inextricably down his bare abdomen and combed over his genitals, stroking and cupping with a casual attitude of possession. Spock bent his hips to escape the intensity, but when the hand withdrew he arched to find the touch again.

A husky voice whispered in his ear. "Fickle, aren't you?"

Hands slid up his sides, ran over the ridges of his ribs, squeezed and stroked.

Spock opened his eyes. Jim was leaning close, eyes reverent. He sat back, tugged his tunic over his head.

Spock swallowed hard, trying to swallow the emotions making his body quake. He was full of uncontrollable lurking needs and this illogically confident being was about to peel him open and reveal them, loose them.

Fingers laced through his genitals again, lifted his penis, which rested unusually heavy against the human’s hand. Blood vessels in Spock’s groin were dilating, something he normally firmly controlled. He felt he was plummeting in an out of control aircar and needed to just hit the antigrav brakes and everything would be as it was, in stillness. Separated from the world by an impenetrable shell. Empty and alone in that transparent prison.

The hand on his genitals grew firmer. Spock recklessly pulled back his control, let the blood flow as it wished, let his rampant needs loose to drink from the new and intimate sensations. His penis pulsed, moved of its own accord. In another moment it wouldn’t matter, his control would fall short whether he tried to engage it or not. He lifted his hips, yearning to pass over that point of no return so the struggle would be terminated.

The blood pumped harder, made him heavier than he imagined he could be and the sure human hand responded by hooking fingers around this hardness and squeezing and sliding as if to push the blood back into his torso. His entire body responded to this sensation of mock penetration, every nerve lit up. His mind came into acute focus on that few square inches of stretched skin over distended flesh.

Spock heard a pained noise of pleasure come from his own throat. He gripped the top edge of the bed as the milking motion continued. He was riding Jim’s hand, lifting himself to join with the aggressive fingers, making an unknowable sound with nearly every shove of his hips. There was little else penetrating his senses except that singular stimulation that had suddenly filled the hollow core of years of withering need.

But the glorious pleasure formed its own secondary need that expanded to eclipse the original one. The sounds he made grew plaintive and he didn’t care. He needed to communicate this in the vain hope it would be solved. Somehow.

A hand ran along his abdomen. The human shifted over him. He was barely aware of this except as a stab of concern that the stimulation might cease, leave him bereft and mad with need. But then his glans was inside something and the clawing need took on a new shape. It eased back, even as it grew larger. His testicles were tight and aching. He squirmed trying to escape them.

A cool moist pressure surrounded him, slid down halfway. The aching deep in him relaxed, gave him back a measure of control. He gradually let the tension out of his back, rested flat on the bunk. The human had his mouth over his penis, was moving up and down with his entire upper body, angled to fit as much as possible into his throat.

Spock had never imagined seeing such a thing happening to his own body. Out of the haze of his need, he tried to accept the sight, the joyous experience of it that no controls could diminish.

With a soft kissing noise, the human pulled his head up. “I need a little feedback. What do you need?”

Spock shook his head. “I don’t know.” His hands still gripped the edge of the bed above his head, could feel now that he had bent the metal.

“What should happen now?” Spock asked. He felt he’d been torn in two and the wound between the halves of him was his pulsing, painful erection.

“You need to come. I assume. Are you fighting it?”

“Not intentionally. No.” His eyes searched the room for an answer that couldn’t be there. He brought them back to the human.

The human had continued to stroke him as he talked, became firmer. “Harder better?”

Something animal and hungry shifted inside Spock, poising to turn around inside him and gut him alive. “Yes.”

The human straddled Spock’s knees and, bending low, took his glans into his mouth again. Jim’s hazel eyes tipped up to look at him, to gauge him. Withdrew, licked, took him in again. Repeated this until Spock whimpered from inside the hollow that had formed in his need. The eyes sparkled with mischief. The mouth sank over him and his glans bumped the back of a cool human throat.

Spock did not know how he could contain so much pleasure and not burst open. The genital contact reached directly into the core of his brain, teasing and expanding there with every movement of tongue and lips and squeezing fingers.

The jetting felt like an injury at first, like blood squirting freely from a deep wound. But the human made a noise of pleasure, or relief, or both.

He felt it again. The mouth backed off, licked him. The hand kept stroking and this time he could feel fluid exiting the tip. It could have been the relief of getting a stone out of a sandal or lancing a festering wound, only multiplied so many times over the comparison grew meaningless.

The human was licking Spock’s glans, capturing the ejaculate in his mouth. Spock’s mind was returning to normal and he watched this with confusion. Why would the human do this with such obvious energy? Another unexpected jet of semen made Spock groan. The well of pent up pleasure was not yet empty. It had to be close to it but he could not gauge what was normal anymore.

The human ran his tongue up the entire bottom side of the shaft, sucked the glans in again, accepted more jetted semen, ran his tongue around the underside of the glans ridge. He was watching Spock as he did this, projecting a roguish look from his eyes, clearly enjoying himself.

Spock’s penis was losing its rigidity. The human was holding it up, stroking upwards more than down. When it lost all definition, became a lump of drained flesh, Jim let go. Spock's penis fell with a wet slap.

The human crawled up Spock’s body and loomed over him on hands and knees, still wearing his trousers.

“How was that, my little Vulcan sex slave?”

Spock swallowed, had to come up with an answer. “Unexpected.” He wondered what he should do with his hands. He put them on the sides of Jim’s ribs. “I do not know what happens next.”

Jim looked over his face. “I want to fuck you, but I haven’t decided how yet.”

Similar needs to those just satiated in himself radiated off the human, reopening his memory of the pleasure afresh. He’d willingly dive into that pleasure again by any means possible.

Spock reached down and unsealed Jim’s trousers. The human penis sprang out, poking through the opening in his briefs. Spock wondered why he was willingly doing this. It was unseemly. Not an activity to engage in except when the alternative was death.

But he was deathly curious to the point of hunger. Jim remained still, waiting through this process. Spock pulled the briefs over the erection, tugged both them and the trousers down to the human’s hips. Then he did something he never imagined he would do. He reached up and made a ring with his fingers and slid it over the human’s erection. Jim pressed forward with his hips, pulled back. Spock provided the alternating movement. This continued for ten or so strokes. Then the human groaned and put a foot on the floor and swung aside. Spock released him, put his hands beside himself again. Waited.

“I don’t know if it’s anatomically okay to take you in the ass, and I suspect you don’t know either.”

Spock shook his head. His body rebelled at the thought. Jim’s hands began roaming over him and it comforted the rebellion. After the extreme pleasure he’d been gifted, he should be willing to do anything.

Jim sat back. His hand raked and stroked up and down the length of Spock’s torso. “I could fuck any part of you and be thrilled with it.”

Spock raised a brow.

“Don’t believe me?”

“I don’t.”

“Are you challenging me? Do you know how much sex I’ve had, and with how many races?”

“No.”

“Probably too much for my own good. You’re my first Vulcan, you’ll be pleased to hear.”

“I am pleased to hear that.”

Jim laughed.

He fetched something from near his bed in the round alcove and returned, bent and removed the warm soft boots Spock always wore on spaceships, to keep the deck from freezing his feet.

“Watch this, my disbelieving Vulcan slave.”

Spock swallowed. “Are you bragging about possessing an ability to take pleasure in random body parts?”

“Yes.”

Jim lifted one of Spock’s feet and rubbed oil on the bottom of it. “You have wonderful feet. Goes with the wonderful rest of you.” He lifted the other foot and oiled that as well.

He set the oil aside. His eyes were as mischievous as ever.

“Lift your feet.” Jim took hold of them. “Bend your knees and spread them, wide as you can”

Spock was distinctly aware of how vulnerable his position was, but along with the vulnerability came a kind of twisted pleasure in allowing it, a sort of discipline of reckless trust.

Jim pushed Spock’s feet slowly closer to his body, nearly to his own groin, until the bottoms of his feet met flat. Jim put a knee up on the bed, held Spock’s feet tight together. “You are nice and flexible too. God, you are wonderful.”

Jim leaned forward and pushed his blood-darkened penis through the paired arches of Spock’s feet, bent his back, pushed through again.

His voice was burdened with pleasure. “See. Not worth doubting me in matters of sex.”

He shoved through again. “And I get to look at you spread wide for me like that. I’m not going to last long.”

Jim licked his lips, groaned. Trust faster, slowed. His eyes roved over Spock’s wide open form, fixated on his soft genitals, which Spock could feel still hung heavier than normal.

Human eyes closed and spasms passed through him. Semen spattered onto Spock’s genitals. The human lost the rhythm, became jerky. Spock could feel the Jim’s pleasure despite his mental shielding. Perhaps he should have let his shielding go. That would truly have been celebrating risk, embracing his human needs.

Jim dropped Spock’s feet and used his hand to rapidly stroke himself, milking out another dribble of ejaculate along with a grunted moan.

Spock put his feet down, knees in a more comfortable position. The human climbed down on top of him, forced Spock’s legs flat, ground their groins together. Kissed him, which Spock did not react to.

Jim propped himself up on his hands to look down at Spock. “You wouldn’t believe how many humanoid species in the galaxy can’t be safely penetrated by human male equipment. One has to be creative.”

“I see.”

“When I mentioned penetrating you, you got skittish.”

“It is something one does only for true mating.”

“As opposed to blow jobs, which are not.”

“A pure Vulcan would be unlikely to reach completion outside of their Time so there are no specific mores regarding such behavior.”

“I picked just the right Vulcan.”

“You picked the one who is not, really.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’m looking right at you. I’ve been living with you. You’re a Vulcan.”

“A Vulcan is something one is on the inside.”

Jim stroked Spock’s cheek. “You happy being one on the outside?”

“Happiness is not a relevant criteria.”

The human’s brows creased and he rose up, lifted his weight off Spock. “I won’t argue with you about that. I’m hardly an expert.”


	11. Satiation

Spock sat alone. The air circulation sounded loud in the cabin.

He still felt satiated, and strangely uncaring about his immediate fate. His unfulfilled physical needs had been a background noise in his body his entire adult life and he had assumed that was normal. But as he sat now, feeling tapped out, he realized that persistent discomfort had been an unnecessary state. Full Vulcans presumably did not suffer in the same way between their Times. Spock now wondered why he had been expected to. Perhaps no one had understood. Certainly he had not. Perhaps full Vulcans had other things to cope with that Spock was relieved of. He did not know.

Jim returned to the cabin. He glanced at Spock and away again, sat at the desk and peered at the screen, shoulders hunched.

Spock remained quiet, making an inventory of what he knew for certain, which was far less than previously. This was not the direction understanding was supposed take as one grew in experience.

The human went out again until ship's night, returned and went to bed with minimal communication. Spock decided this break from interaction was a logical means of balancing out one’s life between extremely vulnerable intimacy and the private self. Spock certainly appreciated having the time to contemplate his newly discovered self.

By day three Spock began to wonder if his assumptions were correct. The human’s entire routine had changed. There was no chess, no caressing, no discussions of seemingly random topics. The human was far more experienced in these things, but Spock decided that a bit of communication may be overdue.

“Jim.”

The human reacted to his name by looking up sharply. He was standing beside the desk with a towel around his neck, possibly staring at nothing. He carried the scent of fresh exertion.

“I am in unknown territory,” Spock said.

Jim worked his jaw as if trying to remove something from his teeth. “Okay.”

“I see that you do not wish to communicate. I withdraw my interruption.”

Jim looked away, tossed the towel aside and went to bed.

It was far into the usual nighttime sleep period, that the human got up, bringing up the light with his movements.

He drew Spock up by the hand and led him to the alcove, removed his robe with none of the usual preamble of stroking beneath it and revealing him slowly. He didn’t speak, just steered Spock to lay back on the bed and climbed up to straddle him, immediately taking up Spock’s penis, stroking it with surety despite its softness.

Spock’s body was still satiated. He sensed he shouldn’t point this out and waited for the human to determine it on his own.

Jim climbed up a little higher on Spock’s body to straddle his abdomen. He reached for something beside the bed, dripped oil on Spock’s chest. He lifted each of Spock’s hands and touched them to it, then put his hands on his tumescent penis, which was lying across Spock’s navel, pushed Spock’s fingers to encircle him, one hand above the other.

Jim leaned forward on his hands and pushed himself into Spock’s hands, pulled back. Spock adjusted his grip to provide the best tunnel of full contact.

Minutes passed before Jim shuddered. But even as he did so, his jaw remained square and clenched, without emotion. It was the sort of sex Spock expected Vulcans to have if they happened to be physically capable of it.

Jim used a handkerchief from the bedside to wipe up Spock’s chest then lay atop him. Spock wasn’t certain what to do with his hands. He rested one on Jim’s elbow and the other on his triceps muscle.

Jim remained that way, slightly tense, for eight minutes eleven seconds, then he rose up and went and slept on Spock’s bed.

Spock sat up to watch him do this, then picked up his robe from the floor and put it over himself, not even wanting to risk the disturbance of donning it.

\-------- 8888 ------

The next day, Jim stepped into the cabin after a full day of absence. Sat down but did not sit back as he previously would have. He sat straight as if uncomfortable.

“We’ve been testing the waters of what we might get for you in ransom.”

“I see.”

“You’re a real prize, you know, like that ship out there.” Jim sounded stoic. Spock found himself listening more to how he spoke than what he said. “One has to take one’s time deciding upon value and then finding the right buyer, and then feeling out that buyer to see how desirous they are for the thing we’re selling, then we can start to set a price, and terms of delivery.”

Jim tilted his head, looked Spock over. “The Vulcans we ransomed ahead of you were straightforward. They didn’t negotiate, exactly. They expressed their terms and then wouldn’t budge. Didn’t seem to understand the concept of a counteroffer.”

Jim rubbed the corner of his eye. “Your family isn’t like that. They are feeling us out as much as we are feeling them out. Maybe more so. They are gathering information. They don’t seem too interested in coming to the table. At least not yet. They’re acting, if I may, a lot like pirates.”

“My father is an ambassador.”

“Yes, I think that’s it. He’s used to dealing with all types. He doesn’t really act like a Vulcan as a result.”

Spock raised his left brow.

Jim said, “He insists on talking to you. Which is reasonable, given the amount of time that has passed. He could be bargaining for your remains and not know it. So I understand his demand to have proof you are whole before deciding whether to negotiate.”

“We’ll set up the connection in half an hour or so. I assume you are willing?” Jim’s voice took on a dark tone.

“Yes. Do you have limitations to place upon me?”

“You can’t give him our location, even if you knew it. That puts the ship at risk, and the bands will sense that. You don’t know anything dangerous about us, really. The connection is being routed a hundred light years from our location, so they won’t get anything from trying to trace it. I don’t think I need to put any other limits on you. I’ll be here with my finger on the switch. There is a lag built into the monitor so I can shut it down before it sends anything incriminating. The lag also helps mask the actual distance the transmission needed to travel.”

When the bridge signaled that the relays were set up, Jim stood up. “Sit here with your back to the plain wall.” He mussed Spock’s hair. “Leave it. I want you to look a little desperate, in case you don’t sound desperate enough.”

The human engaged the connection, used the extra encryption code with hooks directly into the main communications equipment. The code Spock had altered.

Sarek’s image stabilized on the screen. Spock felt intensely homesick.

“Father,” Spock said. He had expected he’d be punished for that word but in the moment the homesickness spoke it for him. The word triggered his modifications to the monitor’s code. It would keep the connection open one way, despite the switch being thrown on the desk. And because the connection was already bypassing the communications board on the bridge for privacy, no one would realize the connection was hanging open longer than necessary, at least not right away. It wouldn’t directly harm the ship, or Jim, at least not yet. Likely never.

Jim moved the chair to sit across from him. Eyes on him.

Spock considered how he would make use of his additions without the bands deciding he intended harm. He must not cause Jim harm, despite what hung over him as likely betrayal. His posture suffered. He likely appeared miserable.

“Spock, are you well?”

“Yes, I am well enough.”

Spock had too much time to think waiting for the lag. He balked physically, imagining his father finding out what kind of behavior he’d been engaging in. He regretted again tripping his code additions, but he had not set another trigger word to disengage it. He never imagined that he’d have doubts.

“Your captors are present with you now, I assume. They were a long time in opening a dialog.”

“I was not identified immediately.”

“That is unexpected. What is your status? How are you kept?”

“I am comfortably provided for. I am not deprived.” Spock gestured at his arm, but the bands were hidden under his robe, sat up straighter since he had been leaning toward the monitor. “My behavior is controlled by a rather sophisticated pair of enslavement devices of Orion origin.” Spock waited to be knocked out, but he wasn’t. His father couldn't use the information after all. Spock tried to straighten again, then realized that his repeated attempts to look normal were likely even more alarming to watch.

“I am not pleased to know this is the case,” Sarek said.

“If I am highly disciplined they are little trouble. My old discipline teacher Stwen would be rather pleased to employ these on his students. They are highly conducive to rapidly fine tuning one’s control.”

His father’s eyebrows went up. “You are resorting to humor.”

“That wasn’t humor. That was an expert opinion based on years of observation.”

Spock waited for the lag. He decided to let his father discuss T'Pring if he wished. Spock would pretend he did not care enough to mention it himself. She didn’t want him and now she was nothing to him. Optimal, really. Logical.

Sarek said, “I was going to have you speak to your mother, but I do not think it will ease her mind to do so.”

Spock’s mental conflict over how appalled his father would be with him must be showing, the recency of sexual gratification, the scent of it that lingered in the cabin even now. He had not meant to indicate any of that discomfort, but with his father’s image right there, he was undermined.

“Do I seem in distress to you?” Spock asked.

“Yes, Spock, you do.”

Spock looked away, ashamed. “It may be the Orion devices.” This was partly true. “Sometimes I am punished several times in a row. It requires a great deal of control to regain control once they are engaged.”

His father’s lips drew thin, the closest thing to a frown he ever showed.

Spock said, “Tell mother I am . . . Tell mother I told you to tell her I am all right.” Spock amended it to get around his father needing to avoid speaking what he would believe to be a lie.

Sarek said, “I don’t think there is anything that can be done for you until we receive a concrete demand from your captors.”

“I understand.”

Jim was reaching for the switch.

“I believe the connection is about to be switched off,” Spock said. He said the last two words with strange emphasis as a signal.

Jim hit the switch. Spock sat back in the chair. If his code was operating properly, the connection would remain open as long as there was speech every fifteen seconds. He needed to communicate something to his father that would be of use to him but would not harm Jim.

Jim had stood up, was rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Spock glanced at the monitor camera, stared straight into it. Glanced up at Jim.

“If I am allowed to ask. How did you end up a pirate?”

Jim sat down on Spock’s bunk, put one foot up on the extra chair. He sounded sullen. “You really want to know?”

Spock had to split the difference between appearing to be more of a prisoner than he really was to his father, but not appearing too odd to Jim.

He said, “Am I allowed to be curious?”

Jim was twistedly amused. “Sure, why not."

Spock avoided looking into the monitor camera again. He was feeling traitorous, to everyone. Even though the bands forgave him.

“I was trouble.” Jim laughed. “I lost my dad.” He swung to his feet and went to the cabinet, took out the bottle and glass. “Starfleet Lieutenant, if you can believe that. A mediocre one, we can only assume, given that he got himself killed on a mission that wasn’t that deadly.”

He sipped from the glass, left the bottle out.

He turned suddenly. “By the way. You have a father who is pretty caring, for a Vulcan.” Kirk sat back down, put up both feet. Sipped again. “He cares enough to remain alive.” He toasted Spock with his glass, drank a swig.

Jim went on, eyes distant. “My mother grew tired of me. My uncle grew tired of me. Fair enough, I was tired of everything too and there isn’t enough opportunity for trouble where we lived. I couldn’t find enough trouble. So the state took over. They shipped me off with seven other teens also looking for trouble. Shipped us off where we were wanted. Or that was the theory. Colony worlds love having more people. Some of them do. The utterly stupid ones do.”

He stood up and paced. Topped up the glass again.

“The utterly power hungry stupid ones do. They willfully outgrow their ability to feed themselves if anything goes wrong. Then they monocrop. That’s how stupid they are. They are on a world that can only support a few highly modified crops in the first place, and they don’t diversify even as much as they could and then they take in more people so they have no margin for error. And they take in those people because they are power hungry.”

Jim stared into his drink. He looked as undone as Spock felt.

“And the crops fail. And there is no help. A few traders come. It’s not nearly enough. There would be an exodus, but there is martial law and the ships are grounded. Because somehow having more people around is going to help.”

Jim was shaking now. He put both hands on the glass. Put the glass down. “And then they start to sort out who should die so there is enough for the rest. And still help doesn’t come. Starfleet certainly doesn’t come.” He moved his lips in silence. “I thought I was tough, couldn’t find enough trouble. I was utterly outmatched by what was happening around me. I would have done anything to be back on earth, unhappy but somewhere people didn’t wake up one day and decide to execute their neighbors.” His lips worked again. “And appear to like doing it.”

He bowed his head. Put his hand over the glass but didn’t pick it up.

Spock was grateful that his father was likely listening. He couldn’t listen to this alone.

“I was selected to survive. Imagine that. Loser that I was. But things were expected of me. It wasn’t free. I was supposed to do things I didn’t want to do, but I didn’t want to die either. It’s not the kind of choice I knew how to make. Kind of humbling to realize how little you know from being so certain you know everything.”

He went silent long enough Spock worried the connection would drop. Jim began speaking right at the fourteen second mark.

“I tried to be what they expected, but I decided I’d rather die. I ran. I was hunted down, but I got lucky and just, finally, someone came. And the freelance ships, they came too. I’d never known there was such a thing. Ships who go from disaster to disaster, getting quick contracts to clean up, then heading to the next. They run in flotillas. Race each other to the next mass death.”

He picked up the glass and drank from it. “I was afraid I’d done too much. I didn’t know. I made myself useful to the most questionable crew I could find and left with them. From there I was careful. Careful with my credits, with what I agreed to do, found another ship to join that looked more lucrative. I wanted my own ship so I needed to get lucky. I got lucky once. Someone was ready to phaser me into the next world and suddenly the planet is full of officials telling people the madness has to stop.

“Could get lucky twice.”

He drank more calmly, almost confidently. “I didn’t really get a big score, just never spent anything off the medium sized ones. Finally managed to buy into a ship with someone else. He got himself killed. I traded that ship for this one. That’s why I’m here now. That’s why when I want something, I plot how to get it and don’t give up. Because that’s how the universe works. And if something is put in front of me by fate. That I take. Never disrespect fate’s gifts.”

Spock faintly raised a brow, but didn’t speak. He wanted the connection to close.

Jim stood there, glass in hand, looking at him. Spock feared he would come close and pet him in front of his father. Spock could understand wishing to die for no good reason with that possibility hanging over him.

But Jim remained unmoving and quiet most of a minute. Spock knew the connection had closed. He had been careful about the coding to avoid it hanging open long enough to attract notice. He stood up. He had made it possible to compute Jim’s identity, had give his father considerable negotiating power. He half wished he hadn’t, despite knowing there should be only one logical conclusion as a basis for his decision. He was beginning to suspect that logic was truly useful only in a vacuum.


	12. Peevish

The human entered the cabin, posture stiff. He sat at the desk and stared at the objects on it.

Spock pressed his hand flat on the page open before him. He decided that conversation was not imminent and returned to reading.

"Which one is that?" Jim asked after a time.

Spock held the book up to reveal the spine.

"The Count of Monte Cristo." He fell silent a while. "The man is duped and imprisoned without just cause and he learns useful knowledge and secrets from a fellow prisoner. Seem familiar?"

Spock shook his head.

Jim lifted his head to see the pages. "You're halfway." He fiddled with the stylus on the desk. "You must be pretty bored by now."

Spock was still appreciative of the quiet, given how much he needed to assimilate. "Not at this moment."

Human brows furrowed. "No?"

“I am trained to meditate in the quiet. It is an acceptable way to spend long periods of time.”

Jim looked around, everywhere but at Spock. “Miss being on Vulcan?”

Spock gave his unwillingly answer just before he ran out of time. “I am uncertain.”

Jim’s brows remained low. He sniffed. “What do you miss?”

“Predictability.”

“Security?”

“Less so. It was a need to experience risk in the service of gain that inspired me to accept a place on the astronomical expedition.”

“And getting away from your betrothed.” Jim sounded smug.

Spock couldn’t deny that, even as he had not considered it as a motivation previously. He had been successful in exacting a small reprisal for her distaste for him.

“Yes.”

Jim smiled darkly. “What didn’t she like about you?”

Spock shook his head. “I do not know.”

“You don’t know? You can’t even guess?”

“My guess would have too low a likelihood of being correct to justify making it.”

“She never gave you a hint?”

“She preferred another.”

Jim laughed. “Oh.” He pushed back in his desk chair and assumed a posture more normal for him. “She doesn’t need another reason with that one on the table.” He appeared more sanguine. “What’s he have that you don’t?”

“Stonn? I do not know.”

“Stonn? At least you know who it is. Sometimes people just say they prefer another. What’s he got?”

“He is a pure Vulcan. His children will be pure. But I did not perceive that was of importance.”

“Humans rarely look ahead that far. Maybe Vulcans are better at it.” Jim’s eyes went up and down Spock’s body. He tipped his head back, resting it on the chair back. “You must miss something else.”

“Warmth.”

“You’re wearing that thick robe.”

“It is not a nighttime garment.”

Jim snorted. “You have thicker clothes than that?”

“Yes.”

For a moment he peered at Spock from under his lowered lids in the way that preceded touching. He dropped his gaze and stared at his interlocked fingers, shifted his hands so the chains around his wrists slid down over his hands.

Jim said, “You live alone? On Vulcan?”

“No. I live with my parents.”

“Sort of old for that.”

Spock raised a brow. “It is typical until one is fully bonded to a mate. Where would one live otherwise?”

“Alone. With your peers.”

“That is less than optimal.”

“It’s called growing up.”

“Perhaps in human culture. I was raised to be entirely Vulcan.”

Jim rubbed his cheek. “Responsibility,” he said without emotion.

“A responsibility to logic. And to society.”

Jim made a small mocking noise. He stood up and shed his tunic, took up a towel, and went out of the cabin.

Spock reviewed the conversation and found he had no basis for understanding its implications. He returned to reading.

Jim returned an hour later, skin shining. He tugged the towel back and forth on his neck.

“So, what shall we ask for you? What are you worth?”

“I admit I have never estimated my monetary value.”

Jim looked Spock up and down again, stepped away. “That’s not really the question. It’s what your family will bear. They must be rather wealthy.”

“Wealth is a relative concept.”

“Everything is relative.” Jim sounded annoyed. “I don’t want to get cheated by not asking for enough.”

He laid down on the bed in the alcove. Ten minutes later the lights went out automatically.

Spock closed the book and placed it at the head of the bed. The count had just convinced the target of his carefully planned revenge to lend his money out unwisely and had tricked another to confessing that the baby they had attempted to bury alive had disappeared instead. The count had a deep understanding of human nature that Spock lacked.


	13. Check

Spock sat up in the dimly lit cabin when the ship dropped out of warp.

“Jim?”

The human was already rising. He tossed the covers aside and ran from the cabin, chains chiming against one another.

When the captain did not return, nor the ship re-enter warp, Spock rose and sat at the desk.

He meditated lightly but found focus difficult to achieve so he left the monitor untouched.

The ship sat in strange silence, lacking the usual background hum and rumble. Without that noise, the cold of space felt much closer. Spock breathed in and out. The air was still fresh and the accessory power was on. He touched the monitor switches but didn’t press them.

Spock wanted to depart this ship and he wanted to remain. But the reasons for remaining were logical only if he stretched the logic.

He understood that he had spent his life before this untested. Tests of physical fitness, survival fitness, mathematical fitness, factual knowledge fitness, well more than two decades of individual musical, meditation, and programming tutoring. None of it had revealed who he really was. Was he really no more than a reflection of others’ expectations? All the way to the core? He needed to know, and to determine that, the surroundings of Vulcan society had to remain absent. To depart now would curse him to dangle forever between what he previously believed he was, and could never revert to, and the being he actually would become once fully tested.

But to remain was to give up everything he knew and relied on. To question everything, even the firmly fixed assumptions serving as a foundation for everything else.

Admitting all this clarified Spock’s mind. It should not have, without a logical decision, but it did. He successfully engaged the monitor to display ship’s status and bridge audio.

There was very little on the audio, some vague noises of movement and breathing, coughing. But the usual chatter was absent. The status showed the ship drifting. The Great Escape, the ship they’d captured, no longer had a data category summarized from the sensors, strongly implying it was no longer in sensor range.

The first audio was Jim’s voice over another communication channel, shouting about various status lights and alternative systems. His voice was furious. The bridge crew sounded cowed when they replied. This back and forth continued for five and a half hours. Jim’s energy never flagged, nor did his fury.

Spock deduced that the warp controller was damaged and that someone was responsible but that someone was out of range of punishment.

Jim swore and cut off the connection to the bridge. The bridge crew chatted a bit among themselves, offering each other commiseration for their situation.

Spock calmly exited the loop in the code that allowed him to monitor the ship and stood up.

But the captain didn’t appear for another hour. When he did, he brought the scent of machinery with him. He was wiping his hands on a rag. His palms were stained with dark gray metal oxidation, the kind of coating ship equipment collected on the inside. Seething anger radiated off of him.

He plowed through the cabin to the head and washed up.

He spoke through clenched teeth. “Six members of the crew, former crew I should say, disabled this ship and took the pleasure palace vessel we were escorting.”

He looked at himself in the mirror, bent and rubbed his face with his wet hands.

“Now instead of looking forward to upgrades and some rest time somewhere nice, we are limping to a third rate repair depot in the hopes we can scrounge up enough credits or trade to get repaired.” He tossed the towel down. “Bastards had to disable us or I’d have kicked their mutinous asses right out of this plane of existence. That ship they took is only armored for show, and they know it.”

He stalked back into the room. Took the bottle and glass right out of the cabinet and put them on the desk. Drank a swallow.

“I thought if we could jury-rig, we could catch them. But it isn’t possible.”

He kept taking regular sips. The heat of his anger seemed to make the alcohol vaporize off his skin faster.

“One of them I had on this ship nearly two years. You’d think someone would have more loyalty than that. I’ve made them all a lot of money. Not my fault they spend it poorly and always need more.”

He held his lips between his teeth and looked at Spock. Took another sip and didn’t swallow it right away, shifted it around inside his mouth.

He finally swallowed. “Strip,” he said.

Spock felt less concern than he would have had this happened a week ago. He stood and unhooked his robe. Not rushing but not stalling. He hung the robe on the decorative woodwork around the bed and stood waiting, pretending the room was warm enough to be unclothed.

The human took another gulp of alcohol. Brought the glass over. Put a hand behind Spock’s head and pressed the glass to his lips and tilted it.

“Drink that.”

Spock did so. It tasted of aged fruit and bitter herbs, more pleasing than expected.

The human kissed the alcohol away that had spilled around Spock’s mouth, licked around his chin to catch the drips.

He kept kissing him with a possessive casualness. Spock opened his mouth and held it that way, which made it less uncomfortable. The human ground his clothed crotch into Spock’s hip, moved up and down until his erection pressed through his trousers.

He released Spock’s mouth with a wet sound and studied his face. He seemed to be calculating something, as if Spock were the chess set.

He still had Spock by the hair at the nape of his neck. He used that to steer him to the desk and pressed him over the rounded edge of it beside the brandy bottle.

“Stay there,” he said.

He returned from the rounded alcove and stood behind Spock. Something dripped on Spock, at the top of the crack in his buttocks. Something cold and slippery. Fingers stroked through it, stroked down between his gluteus maximus muscles and to his anus, slipped inside.

“You are going to mate us,” Spock said. His mind found the realization easily, but the implications were making it difficult to think. He was supposed to be the dominant one. He was Vulcan. He was male.

“I am. Try not to pass out or you might miss it.”

Two fingers, slick with something, shoved easily inside, withdrew, three slipped in, turned, buried deeper, to the knuckles of the fist.

“Sure feels like you can handle me,” came the human’s husky voice.

A faint slapping noise. Spock turned his head and peered back with the corner of one eye. The human was rubbing himself, aggressively it seemed to Spock. The vision was so forbidden it made Spock flinch, expecting punishment to come from somewhere.

The human’s penis bumped Spock’s testicles, bumped against his left buttock, came to rest against his anus, slipped inside with disturbing ease. It took all of Spock's discipline to remain still, to passively receive and keep the bands' punishment at bay. He should be the penetrator. He was stronger. He was Vulcan.

Oil-slick hands grappled with Spock’s hips, fingertips pressed hard, hooked around the pelvis bone to get purchase.

Spock’s rectum contracted, tried to reject the invasive object. He managed to remain passive and therefore aware. He would not be mated unconscious. With a pull on Spock’s hips, the invasion grew larger and held there long seconds before giving him relief and withdrawing. Spock gasped. The sensations reached impossibly deep inside him, twisted him in places the human's organ could not be touching.

Hands tightened again and the invasive rod shoved in again. This repeated, sped up until their bodies slapped together.

Spock rested his head down on the desk, forced the muscles he had control of to relax. The repeated invasion was uncomfortable in a deeply vulnerable way. He shivered, breathed heavily a few breaths, resisted gasping again, despite how much his stomach fluttered.

Jim pressed tight, compressing their thighs, penis the deepest yet. A hand stroked Spock’s lower back, ran lightly over his spine.

Spock squirmed against the desk. He felt speared, and helpless when he should be unyielding and dominant. If Jim could have peeled his mind open and melded with him, he could not have felt more exposed.

The deck under his feet and the desk under his head seemed to shift, grow distant, as if the artificial gravity were failing. Spock breathed deeply against a surge of nausea from the disorientation, trying to draw in strength from the air, from the musky scent of the human. But his grip on the world around him was as slippery as the human hands’ grip on his hips. He couldn’t hold on to it. He didn’t feel himself falling, or floating, just losing definition. The invasive human shaft was rearranging him, his insides, his mind.

The penis withdrew and shoved in again, was pushed in tight by another hard pull on his hips. It filled him, completed him, even as his body instinctively rejected it. Jim’s pleasure was bleeding through his faltering mental shielding. His mate’s pleasure.

His mate.

Spock willfully let the shielding on his mind go. He welcomed the ballooning animal need, felt Jim's clenched and aching testicles as his own. Longed to be penetrated deeper, harder, longed to submit to it, just so he could feel more of Jim's pleasure bleeding through him. He moaned, squirmed, felt the invasive thrusting as the lancing of the core of his secret needs and shame.

Two more jerky thrusts and Jim’s orgasm entwined through his mind, riding on the dark joy of controlling him absolutely. That control was supposed to be Spock's. He had to drink of it as he could. His hunger was too great to care how it was satiated. The hidden, aching needs inside Spock drank their fill as Jim's orgasm played out, drank and fell quiet and pleased.

Spock sighed in physical relief as the softened penis slipped fully clear. He didn’t move. He was quivering too much to attempt it. His body and mind were again wildly out of sync.

A hand ran over his back, down his arm.

“You can get up.” This wasn’t a kind voice. It was a factual one. Stoic.

Spock thought it better to simply sink to the floor. But he obeyed by sheer will, pushed straight up with his arms. Jim turned Spock to face him with sudden movements. Spock nearly staggered.

“Too much for you?” This was mocking.

“I need to recover. Meditate.” He was saying that too much lately.

“Sit down, then.”

Spock had no choice either way. He tugged his robe down from the bed frame and sat under it like a cloak, knees to his chest. The quivering eased as soon as he accepted the satiation of his instincts. Fighting this new reality was what was causing him distress. He felt whole for the first time ever, with no deeply buried empty hunger gnawing at his spirit. He felt like an alien to himself. He closed his eyes.

“Are the bands punishing you?”

“No. You mated with me.” This was so obvious, he wondered what was wrong with the human.

“Yes.” The hard voice held faint confusion. “It’s not like we haven’t had sex before.”

Spock didn’t know how to communicate these concepts in Standard, barely understood it to explain in Vulcan. “Mating is not the same.”

Jim harshly said, “Why don’t you rest instead of talking.”

Spock’s disconcerted self agreed.


	14. And Mate

Spock woke up and sat up. Hours had passed. His rear was sore but it mattered little in contrast to the strange quiessence of the rest of him. He couldn’t hear the human breathing, so he must be alone in the cabin.

He stood to put his robe back on. Sat and meditated, reached level four of meditation with little effort.

Jim returned, shoulders hunched. HIs palms were again stained metallic gray and there were streaks of the same on his arms. He didn’t look at Spock as he entered. He washed up, washed his face, rubbed water through his hair.

Jim took a seat at the desk, knitted his fingers together and pressed his mouth against his knuckles. He looked at nothing.

Spock contemplated this behavior, thought he comprehended the emotional backing for it.

“Is there something I can assist with?”

The hazel eyes cut across to him, angry or wounded.

“Where do you want to be left off?” Jim asked. “We can’t get any closer to Federation space than Loo’s World. It will be a while, but we’ll get there eventually. Will that do?”

“I don’t understand the question. You wish to be rid of me?”

Jim swallowed. He didn’t meet Spock’s gaze. “You want to be off this ship, I assume.”

“You have mated with me.”

Jim finally looked at him, eyes expressing angry confusion.

Spock said, “Does that word not mean the same in Standard? To choose a mate and engage in sexual intercourse?” Spock dropped his steepled hands and sat back. “I sense you do not understand Vulcan mating. Perhaps the Federation database isn’t detailed enough to be clear. Vulcans mate in a fit of madness and violence, and once they do so, are paired for life.”

The hazel eyes went wide with alarm. “What are you . . . What?”

“I pleased you. As your mate, that is my role.” Spock tilted his head to the side. “Except it is not, really, I am male and supposed to be the aggressor. That is causing me some consternation.”

Jim stood up, bent forward toward Spock. “What are you saying? I violated you.”

“Did I resist you?”

Jim was nearly shouting. “You hated what I did.”

“It was distressing but it was over quickly. And the invasiveness was necessary to make me your mate.”

“I did that because I knew you didn’t want it. Specifically because you didn’t like the idea. You aren’t angry about that?”

Spock’s calm voice seemed increasingly odd in the room. “You had that specific need and I had to fulfill it. It makes me whole to fill it.”

Jim’s eyes grew wider. “You. You wanted that, but only because I did it. Am I understanding you properly?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not even illogical. That’s just nuts.” Jim deflated a little. He pulled at his hair. “I don’t– You don’t hate me?”

“You are my mate. Your questions are in an irrelevant context. No. In case the bands find that insufficient an answer.” Spock sighed. “Is this how you avoid having anyone here too long? You begin to behave in ways that make them wish to leave?”

Jim stared at him, face reddening. “No one ever wants to stay.” Jim stood straight, leaned on the desk, shoulders hunched. “No should want to stay.” He turned his face away, jerked his gaze back to Spock. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He looked away again, appearing flummoxed.

After a while, Spock said, “Jim.”

“What?” Came the sharp reply.

“Perhaps if you sit down, comfortably, I can explain Vulcan mating again.”

Jim looked everywhere but at Spock. “The hell.”

Jim, animated suddenly, loomed toward Spock. “Wait a minute. We don’t have anything telepathic going on. Isn’t that how you mate?”

“No, we mate by engaging in sex. We bond telepathically. Those are not the same thing. In a highly traditional family such as mine, that is one of the reasons we betroth children so young. The betrothal bond is then well established to assure we are drawn together at the time of mating, so we are then both mated and bonded. In parts of Vulcan society where these traditions are less firmly adhered to, or children are left with a choice of mate until they are older, then yes, it is possible to be bonded to one and mated to another. It is considered suboptimal, or of questionable virtue, if I can apply that word to Vulcans. I am having trouble lining up language for our concepts. Forgive my lack of precision.”

Jim’s shoulders were lax as he stared at Spock. He finally looked away. “Fuck you.” He said, with little emotion.

“I see.” Spock said.

Jim drank a glass of alcohol down in one long swallow, then coughed. “I need to get away from this. I need to think.” He stumbled around the desk toward the alcove, not because of drunkenness, which he should not be suffering from yet, but because of distress.

Spock said, “Do you wish for my physical company in your bed?”

Jim spun, stumbled, and caught himself on a bulkhead strut. “Leave me the hell alone.” He turned again, pointed, “That’s a command for those damn bands. You here?” He fell into bed and went quiet.

Hours later, Spock rose out of deep meditation at the sounds of water splashing in the head. Jim emerged, brows low, eyes moving about. He stalked over to the desk, rubbing his hair. He swallowed hard.

Spock didn’t dare speak, in case the last command covered even that.

“Nothing to say for yourself?”

Spock raised his brows meaningfully. Demands like that while he was already subject to others could lead to a punishment trap.

“Shit. Fine, you can speak. You . . . don’t have to leave me alone anymore.”

“I understand,” Spock said.

“And you look fucking happy about it too.” He stood with his feet apart, ready to physically fight.

“I am contented.”

“The hell.” Jim rubbed his hair again, making it messier. It reduced the appearance of his age considerably. “Okay, I’ll bite, Slave, what do you understand?”

“Why the first thing you did when I arrived on the ship was to offend me deeply.”

“Yeah. And why is that?”

Spock sat straighter, using the few seconds he had before the bands would punish him for not directly answering. “You seem very self aware otherwise. This block in your comprehension is strange. But, in answer, you forced your touch upon me because you do not want anyone emotionally close, even as you wish for a companion. Or more specifically, you want companionship that you completely control, and if you become emotionally attached you lose some control.”

“Yeah. Alien Vulcan expert on humans here.”

Spock remained pleasant. “If you dispute my conclusions, I would be pleased to hear your alternative explanation.”

Jim stuck his chin out a little. “I like abusing people. Especially the beautiful ones.”

“Yes, but why? And why so mildly?”

Jim’s face grew strategic. “You think I’m incapable of hurting you for real?”

“I am not attempting to issue a challenge to you. If you are interpreting it that way, I have made a mistake. But in answer, no. But I should qualify that. In this one instance where you have been cornered into either doing so or admitting I am correct, perhaps you are capable.”

Jim grabbed the front of Spock's robe, balled his other fist. Spock could see it out of the corner of his eye, but avoided glancing at it. He remained sedate.

Spock spoke softly. “You cannot break me. I am three times your strength.”

Jim released him with a hard shove that Spock absorbed, remained in place.

Jim went to the cabinet, but didn’t reach it. He leaned against the wall and, after ten seconds, slid down it, turned to sit on the deck with his knees bent, feet splayed.

He sat there, breathing loudly. “Maybe you’re fucking right. Hell if I know.”

“You have a blind spot in this. You are quite aware and intelligent otherwise.”

Jim’s face grew dark, eyes narrowed. “There a fucking compliment. From a god-damn walking bio-computer.” He rubbed his head violently. “You don’t want to go. But do you really want to stay? Or do you just have no choice now?”

“If you are asking me if I would have chosen this previously, no, likely not. But the person that would have made that decision is not me, now. If you are asking me if my contentment is biologically driven, then yes, it is. But so is my desire to eat and rest which I logically draw contentment from. Vulcans are not meant to be unmated. Especially now that we Vulcans lock ourselves away, as you have repeatedly pointed out. That leaves us no outlet for intimacy and we are a passionate race, at the core. Realize also that I was destined to mate with someone I find far less pleasing than you.”

Jim hooked his arms on his raised knees, hung his head.

Spock said, "Although, you are not the mate my family would have chosen."

Jim snorted.

"But their first choice was poor. They have lost the authority to dictate in these matters."

"Your father didn't even mention it when you talked."

"Such things would rarely be discussed at all, and only in private. Jim. You are a fascinating and complex being, and therefore an intellectually pleasing companion. You are intelligent and sensitive to your surroundings. You are my match in chess. You are a pirate but you are very good at what you do.”

“How would you know?”

Spock spoke with a relaxed near-smile. “I have been listening in to the bridge. It didn’t harm the ship to do so.”

Jim rested his head against the wall. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t harm the ship.” His eyes found Spock’s. “Lots of things wouldn’t harm the ship, technically, if one were clever.”

“Indeed they would not.”

The human wore a haunted look. But then he laughed. "I shouldn't have been so overconfident. It’s my fault if you took advantage.”

"Case in point. You are an honorable being, in all of the contexts where you are not wounded."

Jim raised his head with a jerk, but let it fall again. "You going to heal me," he asked with sudden nasty sarcasm.

"I expect to be your companion."

There was silence while Jim rocked his knees in and out, looking like a nervous boy.  "It won't work."

"Do you still desire me?"

Jim smiled painfully. "Does it matter?"

"I do not wish for a bonding. I have loathed the betrothal bond I was subject to for more than two decades and a full bond would be worse. I am still learning how very free I am and I refuse to give that up. But I do not wish to be unmated. That is not pleasing. So, yes, your desire is important to me."

The golden highlights glistened in Jim's hair as he lowered his head. He spoke to the floor. "You are still as beautiful as ever."

“That is still an alien concept to me.”

“Beauty and desire go together. Be happy about it.” Jim looked away. “We’re a terrible match.”

“I confess I have no way to measure that.”

“What is your father going to think? How can you not consider that?”

“What my father might do when he finds out we are mates, I cannot fathom. It is utterly beyond me to supposition.”

Jim’s lips relaxed, nearly smiled. His shoulders relaxed but he remained on the floor. “He knows you are hanging out here with the ragged end of a betrothal bond, right?”

“Yes. It would be unconscionable for T’Pring, my former betrothed, to keep that a secret.”

“So, he should know you are vulnerable.”

Spock shook his head. “My father brooks no weakness.”

Human eyes appraised Spock. “You know, I can see that in you. We’re opposites on that count. I had no father and you had too much.”

Jim rubbed the back of his neck, appearing strained. “I’m a shitty long-term companion, you know.” He pushed to his feet. “Just so you’re warned.”

He went to the desk and picked up his glass, swirled the liquid around. “I have to go try something else. I don’t know what yet, but something. It’s my job to pull us out of this mess. At impulse speed we’ll be lucky to make it anywhere without being raided. Want this?”

Spock held out his hand for the glass. “It is an interesting substance.”

“Don’t start liking it. I don’t have that much of it in storage.”

Jim pulled on a tunic this time before departing. Spock watched him go, then sipped the Saurian brandy.


	15. Strategy

It was nearly seven hours later that the ship entered warp. Spock had been reading more adventures of the self-created Count while considering his situation. He fixed his attention on the rumble of the ship’s engines, expecting it to fall back out of warp. But it continued on, minute after minute.

Jim returned, neck bent with fatigue, tunic and hands stained. He stripped off his tunic, dropped it in the disposal, and went to the head to wash up. His face was hard, eyes distant. The silver chains on his wrists had been tarnished by exposure to something caustic.

He shuffled over and leaned on the desk, rubbed his nose. Crossed his arms. He looked away from Spock.

“Benefit of stealing everything off every ship you defeat. Had a spare part in storage we’d forgotten about so the mutineers didn’t know it was there either.” 

Jim swallowed hard. “I shouldn’t have taken my frustration out on you.”

Spock closed the book and set it aside. “Are you experiencing guilt?”

Jim’s voice was clipped. “What of it?”

Spock raised a brow. “I was merely looking for confirmation. I am still learning to identify human emotions.”

“Speaking of emotions, you should hate me.”

“That would be highly hypocritical of me.”

Jim was still angry. It showed in the lines of his brow and the tension in his jaw. But it was aimed inward. “This I’ve got to hear. How so?” 

Spock clasped his hands and touched his raised index fingers to his lips. “Were I to enter the usual Vulcan Time of mating I would have been drawn to my betrothed to perpetrate violence upon her lasting days. Your actions in comparison were a mere six minutes and twenty three seconds and not particularly violent. The events are difficult for me to assimilate not because we mated, but because I was not in control. But I would have been doing the same. My betrothed would have had no right or ability to deny me either.”

Jim’s face grew hard and distant again. “Removing your control was the point.” He sounded vaguely mocking. “Control someone’s desires and their access to fulfilling those desires you have full dominance over them.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

Jim finally met Spock’s gaze. “Did I learn from watching others succeed? Yes.”

“You are only comfortable if you have full control over those around you,” Spock stated, fully calm.

“In this cabin, yes. I let my crew have more leeway or I wouldn’t get much good out of them, nor will the good ones stay.” He fitfully rubbed his forehead. “I don’t understand you.” He sounded defeated. “How can you be happy with this?” But he cut Spock off before he could reply. “I know, you explained. You like being mated. You are ‘content.’”

He stepped away, leaned on the bulkhead, lowered his head. “This can’t work. I don’t know why I’m even thinking about it. You’re the grandson of a member of the Federation Council and I’m an idiot pirate.”

“I was considering a means of changing that.”

Jim’s voice became mocking, even as it remained tired. “Oh, do tell, my seemingly omniscient thrall.”

“My father seemed unduly affected by the notion of my having to wear these Orion devices. I expect that he would be willing to ransom simply the removal of the devices and not explicitly my return. He will balk at giving you credits in general as that would further your felonious activities, but will likely be willing to forward payment sufficient to cover hiring the expertise needed to remove the bands. This assumes you can find someone to do it.”

“I already have. Small but exclusively high end slave trading bazaar on Idra Nineteen. It’s three days away.”

Spock suppressed the outward signs of his extreme relief. “If this ship were able to dock at the legitimate border stations of the Federation, would you be able to find enough fully legal work to keep the ship in operation?”

“Yes. That’s where all the good business is. You know how many companies and organizations want to do business in the Grey Zone? But they’re afraid to. With my reputation I could charge a premium for escorts back and forth from the gray and black market ports to legal ones in the Federation. There is also work escorting pleasure cruisers to uninhabited worlds in the Grey Zone. That’s another market. Both pay extremely well.”

“In that case, in exchange for promising to remove the bands, I suggest asking my father for two things: credits sufficient for the bands’ removal, and licensing for this ship to legally dock at the Federation’s border area.”

Jim stared at him. “You think he can manage that? After we just raided a Vulcan ship?”

“I believe my father will find two things appealing about the offer. You end up with none of his credits, and he might remove a criminal ship from the ranks of privateers.”

“He likes lost causes?”

“Not usually, I confess.”

Jim’s face grew thoughtful. “And when you aren’t returned home? Will he revoke the license? He’s going to lose his mind when he finds out why you don’t return.”

“I expect that legalizing this ship will require pulling enough strings that it will be awkward to revoke it unless you commit an illegal act. That is the biggest difficulty he will have to overcome to agree to the offer, that you will embarrass the family.”

Jim nodded. “I can believe that. I’m certainly familiar with being a family embarrassment.”

Spock said, “You have just lost the most aggressive of your crew. Can you ensure the behavior of the remainder of them, or manage to trade off those you cannot for others you can?”

Jim’s face muscles worked. “You’re saying there’s a bright side to the mutiny that just happened to me?”

“I am saying there is an opportunity present in some of your crew self-selecting themselves for removal from your organization.”

Jim’s eyes narrowed. “Still smarts.”

“I expect, and rightfully so.”

“Don’t give me hope like this.”

“I do not understand.”

Jim rubbed his head again. “I don’t want to pin my future on dreams. But I am getting too old for this game. It’s not an easy game to win all the time. I’ve already beaten the odds of surviving too many times over. It’s not going to continue.”

“Then do not hope. Consider it purely as strategy. I will do the talking to my father.”

Jim turned to him, stared for nearly a minute. He stepped closer, lifted his hand and ran a barely perceptible finger along the edge of Spock’s bangs, which were getting long, catching on his eyebrows.

“Luck is one thing.” Jim said. “Hope is deadly.”

He went to the desk and instructed someone on the bridge to arrange a set of relay hops to hide a connection. That finished, he sat back. “It would be good to get those bands off you.”

“They are surprisingly similar to Vulcan society’s expectations for personal discipline.”

“Hoping to shed your disciplines too?” Jim’s gaze drilled into Spock’s.

“Only the ones that aren’t personally useful to me. Which is only a few.”

“I gave you way too much time to think while fixing the ship.”

“Indeed.”


	16. Negotiating

Spock settled at the desk to speak to his father a second time. The intervening time while the connection was being arranged had devolved into small talk interspersed with strategizing. At first strained, but gradually, Jim had relaxed. Spock began to better see when Jim was covering for his sensitive emotions when he behaved angrily or with too much bravado. Jim used these reactions like a Vulcan used a shell of logic in that it was partly intended to keep everyone at a distance, both inwardly and outwardly.

Spock said nothing this time of his realizations, having also learned that Jim reacted badly to being emotionally dissected in this manner.

When his father’s image came on the screen, Spock felt the same emotions as last time, but this time they would get in the way of his purpose and were therefore not useful and therefore not logical to experience.

“Father,” Spock said. He had to. If he said ‘ambassador’ Sarek would notice the change in greeting and try and deduce why. He would notice the connection behaving differently at the end of the conversation and would put the two together. The conclusions would significantly weaken Spock’s position.

Jim did not put his finger on the switch. He stood on the other side of the desk, sideways to Spock, head down, face thoughtful. Spock suspected he was schooling himself to trust Spock and that the task was not easy.

“Are you still kept well, Spock?”

“I am kept well enough. Do not concern yourself.”

There was somewhat less lag this time, even though Spock estimated they were actually farther away.

“Your captors do prefer to take their time.”

“They have an offer for you. It is somewhat unconventional.”

Spock could measure the lag by the time it took for Sarek to raise an eyebrow.

“I will hear it.”

“In return for removal of the Orion controlling devices I am wearing, they are insisting upon sufficient credits to hire a slaver jeweler to do the work and licensing for this vessel to dock at the Federation border ports adjacent to the Grey Zone.”

“This is an unexpected request.”

“I convinced them that you would be unwilling to part with credits in the amount corresponding to my value. This was an alternative demand that gets around that problem.”

“Yes, it does, by bartering our influence. It is logical in that regard. The Orion devices are intact?”

Spock unhooked his robe and pulled his collar down over his shoulder to free his upper arm. The status lights glowed brighter than the band glittered.

Jim turned and made a curious face, reached and pressed the mute. “Told you your father is a pirate. Doesn’t trust anyone.” He released the switch.

Spock said to his father’s image, “I am rather eager to have the devices off given my value on the open slave market here.”

Sarek said, “I will need the ship’s identification number. Repairing its license will not be easy and may require more than a week. How will the change in licensing be verified by your captors?”

Jim hit the mute, but he didn’t speak because Spock knew the answer already. Jim released the mute.

Spock said, “They will visit a gray market port near the border where licenses are scanned, but where it is easy to bribe the port officials if that verification fails. The ship is named Calypso.” Spock relayed the ship’s serial number, previously valid registry, model, and tonnage. It wasn’t the name or registry the ship was currently flying under. It was one of several identities the ship could assume at will, something Spock had not believed possible.

Sarek lifted his head. “I will agree to your captors’ terms on one condition. That the connection remain open long enough for you to speak with your mother.”

Spock looked up, glanced at three different points in the room as if he had more than one captor to get permission from. Nodded to his father.

“Your mother was more strained from not seeing you than she would have been had I simply allowed it, even in the condition you were in. You are somewhat improved.”

“I am looking forward to my freedom, father.” Spock hooked his robe neatly again, tugged it smooth.

Spock expected his father to ask about the arrangements for his transport home, but he did not. Instead, Amanda came into view, wearing her forceful calm over stressful interior face.

“Spock. It is good to see you.”

“Likewise, Mother.”

“You are eating well? Keeping warm?”

“Humans keep their ships cold, but I am all right. No necessities are withheld from me. The benefit of being valuable.”

She gave a small painful smile. “You’ll be home soon, Spock,” she reassured him.

Spock considered that home was where his mate was. “Yes, mother. I will.”

“Tell your captors to treat you well, or they will hear from me.”

“They heard you.”

Jim made a face of long-suffering patience and looked away.

“You are truly unharmed, Spock?” Aching emotion came through this time.

Spock relaxed his own control to better sound reassuring. “Yes, mother. I am unharmed.”

“I worry for you constantly. How do you spend your time?”

“I am reading earth classical authors, Mother. And the latest astronomy research. I am quite well kept with intellectual distractions.”

“What are you reading right now?”

“Alexandre Dumas.”

Her face transformed. “Truly, Spock. He is one of my favorites.”

“I reiterate that you need not worry about me.”

“I’ll try to do so less. It would please your father if I did.”

Jim reached for the switch.

“The connection is going to be cut off, Mother.”

Before she could sign off through the lag, Jim hit the switch.

The connection would still be open. Spock rose, acting reluctant, head down, as if silently ordered to by a gesture behind the camera. He stepped around the desk, out of view, and afraid Jim might speak, took him up and pressed his lips over Jim’s.

Jim stiffened, put his hands on Spock’s shoulders, then slid them around Spock’s back. The human took over the kiss, jamming his tongue into Spock’s mouth.

At precisely fifteen seconds, Spock heard the little hum from the open microphone’s circuit close down. He pulled back from the kiss.

Spock said, “It is no more logical of a gesture if one initiates it.”

Jim smiled through his confusion, still had his arms around Spock. “You thought it would make a difference?”

“I did not know. But now I know it does not.”

“I’m touched you tried.” Jim held Spock at arm’s length. “Your father gave in too easily. Any idea why?”

“I did not recognize that he gave in. If he was amenable to the terms, he would simply agree to them. What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. But there’s something about this I don’t like.”

Jim rubbed his hands up and down Spock’s arms, looked away and let go.

Spock said, “Do you need something from me?”

“I need you to have those bands off. I’m not touching you until they are.”


	17. Obedience

The door rumbled open and Jim stepped inside. He looked at Spock a long moment.

With a tilt of his head, he said, “Why don’t you come out and look around. We’re about to enter orbit of Idra Nineteen.”

Spock put the paperdisplay aside and stood up.

Jim labelled the parts of the ship they were passing as they went, not slowing his purposeful stride. The living area of the ship was small, and they reached the bridge at the bow in less than a minute.

The center of the bridge was a platform with three consoles, two in the center and one to the left. Arrayed two steps below and forward of this platform were a semi-circle of six consoles, curved exterior portals in front of each. Projection displays overlaid the windows and, when blank, showed the stars beyond.

A rusty colored planet was expanding in the large curved window eye level from upper platform.

The crew turned to look curiously at Spock, glanced at each other.

The captain said, “This is going to be a quick stop, so only the First Mate and I will be heading down. We need to pick up a few crew.”

“Captain, there is surprisingly little traffic in orbit,” said a man with long kinky hair. When he turned he revealed non-human features: stark eye socket edges and no eyebrows.

“Ask orbital control what’s going on, Fizzy,” Jim said.

“I suppose I could just do that.” Fizzy pressed his earphone tightly to his ear, began chatting with false amiability to someone on the other end.

He removed the earphones and turned his seat. “The Fed has sent two big ships into the zone. They are running a full sweep of all major and minor ports. Estimated to arrive here in two days. Everyone’s bugged out. That’s why it’s quiet.”

“Huh,” Jim said. “First Mate,” Jim addressed a slightly chubby man with a shiny bald top to his head. “You and I are going crew shopping. Come down with me and we’ll split up.”

“Crew shopping? There’s no one left on the planet.”

“No, it’s perfect. The picky ones will be left. Along with the useless. Easy to spot the difference. And the picky ones will no longer have the luxury of being picky.”

Jim took Spock’s arm and stepped toward the bridge doors. “Come on. We don’t have much time.”

\-------- 8888 --------

The shop’s logo hung on a sign above the door, a giant eye ringed by a golden filigree screen. Below, the name of the shop in an arc of ornate gilded letters: Obedience.

The shop owners appeared to be twins of different sexes, small, dark-skinned humanoids in multilayered shirts and simple trousers. They sized Spock and Jim up with practiced eyes as they stepped inside.

“You have an appointment? This way,” the female said.

They were led into a back room full of electronics the way the front room was full of precious metals and gems. The male gestured at a seat with adjustable wooden posts sticking out at shoulder height.

“Have your slave show me the devices.”

Spock pushed his robe off one shoulder.

The shop-owner flipped down an eye-mounted scanner. “Top of the line. How are they functioning?”

“Well enough. But I want them removed anyway.” Jim presented the payment, which was secured.

“The work seat is here. The slave should remove his upper garments.” The other jeweler bustled ahead of them, gesturing.

Spock let his robe fall around his waist. The wooden bars were adjusted to hold his armpits up. He sat back against the slanted board, found relaxation somewhat difficult.

Long rows of tools and components were laid out, the same on each side.

“The devices must be removed as close to the same moment as possible, or the slave will suffer considerably. A weak race will not survive removal at all, but the Vulcanoid should be resilient enough unless he is ill.”

Jim looked questioningly at Spock, who shook his head.

The jewelers set to work, speaking only a few words. They drilled many tiny holes, applied jumper wires, applied tiny electromagnets, and finally, removed the covers of the devices. Spock looked with interest at the inner workings, the power supply, the sensors, the field emitters. The designers had done a good job of masking the functionality as decoration.

“All right.” The jeweler stood poised with a tiny hook tool and a magnet on a thin rod. The other took up the same. “Your slave should prepare himself for rather a great deal of pain, although it will be short. He should try not to move or it will cut the bone cleanly in half.”

Spock rested his head back, entered into light meditation, put a barrier up against his body. He watched the wiry micro tools approach at the same time, watched them fish behind the control electronics of the devices from two angles at once. Pain stabbed through Spock’s arms, made him catch his breath.

One of the jewelers said something to the other. Spock’s sensitive ears caught the sound of a tiny catch clicking free on the left band, and the pain became another reality. It didn’t emanate from his arms, it was inside his skull. It was the same neural interference that knocked him unconscious, but tuned to an optimum frequency for agony. He couldn’t block it or isolate himself from it. It was him.

Spock’s scrambling, desperate mind shied away from a reality that assaulted him without possible shelter. He was certain his soul was screaming at his mind separating to escape. His heart didn’t race, it began skipping, beating out of sync. He felt consciousness waning, welcomed blackness over his mind, even if it meant death.

Another click and it stopped. He fell forward, swung limp, caught on the wooden bars, closed his mouth, which was dripping saliva onto his abdomen. He may have been screaming the seconds before. His heart settled into a normal pattern, but an unreasonably fast one. His limbs felt drained of strength and he hoped he wasn’t expected to stand.

Jim’s expression was one of highly controlled alarm.

The bands slipped clear of Spock’s fingers, the right, then the left. The male jeweler put them into a velvet case and held it out to Jim.

“Unless you are interested in selling them,” the jeweler said.

Jim didn’t look interested in touching them. But he shook his head and accepted the box. “Unless the price is good, I suppose. I paid six thousand. Each.”

“That was a very good price considering they were new. But they no longer are. And the power levels are still reasonable. We’d offer you four thousand. Each.”

Jim appeared to consider this with some uncertainty. “I suppose I can make better use of the credits right now. Forty-five hundred.”

The credits and goods changed hands.

Spock sat upright enough to unhook his arms, pulled his robe back over his shoulders. When he stood to secure his robe properly the female jeweler pulled a weapon and stepped back.

Spock stared at her, then at Jim.

“They’re worried about security given that you are now uncontrolled,” Jim said.

“I see.”

“Come on,” Jim said casually and led the way to the door, pausing to put his credits inside his belt.

On the street, Spock said, “I sense that you did not get a fair price for the devices.”

“Doesn’t matter. I stole them. It was pure profit.”

Jim turned to him. His mouth slowly stretched into a smile. He said, “You all right?”

“I continue to experience things I had previously made incorrect assumptions about. In this case, I did not realize what pain was until now.”

Jim’s smile vanished. “Yeah, you were pretty racked up there.”

“I also now possibly understand the human notion of the sublime. I never did before.”

“You don’t find space to be sublime by itself?”

“Perhaps if I did not see it as a collection of phenomena with their associated mathematics. I sense that gets in the way.”

They passed a shop with a red and black robe with gold accents hanging in the window. Jim stopped.

“How about we get you a second robe?”

“You don’t intend it to be that one.”

Jim seemed cross. “Of course that one, I like it.”

Spock said, “If a Vulcan matron were to run a brothel on Rigel 4 catering to dispossessed royals from Tellar, she might wear that.”

Jim bent over his hand and laughed. He straightened, sighed, cleared his throat.

“All right, you can pick your own clothes.”

“I would appreciate something warmer.”

“That robe you are wearing makes me sweat to look at you. But all right.”

They stopped in a shop farther down the street for a pair of thick layered tunics and trousers, adjusted by robots on the spot to fit perfectly.

On the way out, Jim said, “I like you in a robe. We have to find you at least one you are willing to wear.”

“I believe we are in a hurry.”

“No, we aren’t. Well, we are, but we aren’t appearing to be. That’s important.” He stopped, looked up and down the street. Then considered Spock.

“You haven’t run off. I notice,” Jim said.

“I do not wish to.”

Jim made a confused face and strolled in what appeared to be a random direction. Spock followed.

They beamed aboard and left the purchases behind with Pavel, who was running the transporter. The security chief eyed Spock with disgruntled suspicion all the while he complied with Jim’s request that they be beamed down to a new location.

“Star Crossed Lounge. We’ll start here. First Mate says he’s found a navigator. We need two engineers and a general hand, if possible. But I’d take anyone who is quality and flexible. You go circulate and let me work alone. Note anyone you like the looks of for when I signal you. This should be profitable. The quality ones are always less sure of themselves and they typically wait too long to get out.”

They stepped inside and split up. No one gave Spock a second glance, which surprised him greatly. He kept track of Jim out of the corner of his eye as he found a place to stand where he could observe the ship docking status monitors as well as most of the lounge’s inhabitants.

Jim didn’t look at anyone as he stepped up to the bar. He got a drink and turned and glanced at one in particular as he sipped. Most everyone present was watching the monitors. A woman in worn coveralls stood in the corner. Unlike the others she wore a variety of patches on the shoulders.

Jim strolled over to her. She lowered her eyes and watched him approach without expression.

“I need a fourth engineering mate,” Jim said. “Interested?”

Her lips quirked slightly mocking. “Tell me more.”

“I let my crew rest somewhat regularly, although we are shorthanded, so less so right now than the norm. You get a cabin of your own. Normal split of hauls and fees.”

“Why are you here, Shanghai Silver, instead of your Engine Crew Chief?”

Jim appeared to smile, but it wasn’t clear if it was genuine.

“My engine crew chief once promised to pay someone entirely in rum. I don’t let him recruit anymore.”

“Ah. Right.” She looked up at the monitor. “Not interested.”

Jim rubbed his chin, sipped his drink while watching the monitor as well. Ships were leaving as fast as they could.

“May I ask why not?” Jim said.

“You have to ask? All right, Tonto, I’ll bite. It’s because I don’t provide extra services. That’s why. I know who you are, I could see you glittering from ten klicks away.” She looked up at the monitors again.

Jim thumbed his communicator, asked for engineering. “Chief, ask this sharp lady three technical questions you want your tech to be able to answer.”

He handed the communicator over to her.

She shook her head and accepted it.

Chief asked, “What’s the intercoolant boiling point?”

“Two hundred sixty kelvin.”

“What’s a graduated spanner mostly used for?”

“I’ve never heard of that.”

“What’s the procedure for shutting down a warp core?”

“Throw the breakers on the connected systems, push in the cooling bars halfway, set them to automatic, attenuate the coil energy until the energy waves are canceling, push the bars in the rest of the way--”

“She’s fine.” Chief said loudly over the connection.

She started to hand the communicator back.

Jim said, “Ask him what I keep in my quarters.”

She raised a thin brow. “What does Captain Argent keep in his quarters?”

There was laughter. “A Vulcan sex slave.”

She closed her eyes and opened them slowly, looked at him. Held out the communicator. “A Vulcan?”

He glanced up at the status monitor “You want to change your mind? You are running out of time.”

“I don’t like your way of doing business.”

“That’s on hold for the time being. If it changes back, anyone who wants to get off will be allowed off, somewhere they can get a decent ship.” He stowed his communicator.

“I can’t believe I’m saying yes to you. I want to see this mythical Vulcan while I can still get off this ship.”

“Hands off,” Jim said. “He’s mine.” He tossed his head in Spock’s direction.

She turned. Spock gave her a level look absent all emotion, to assure he didn’t resemble a Romulan.

“Okay. I did ask.”

“Fetch your stuff and I’ll have you beamed aboard.”

“You don’t take your time. Do you? You don’t even know my name.”

Jim lowered his voice. “You want to hang around here? I know I don’t. And I don’t care what your name is. Knowing my crew, you’ll be assigned a nickname by shift change.”


	18. Orientation

The bridge crew were orienting two of the new crew to their stations. Everyone fell silent when Jim and Spock stepped onto the bridge.

“Break orbit and set course for Pirantha Colony,” Jim said.

The first mate said, “That’s a Federation territory planet.”

“I know. We’ll change course before we arrive. But I want to appear like we’ve no issues with the Federation. We’re just moseying our way back to it, unconcerned.”

“Right, Captain.”

The crew went back to stations, made the course changes. Idra Nineteen slid away off the port side of the ship.

Spock liked this bridge. It was designed to celebrate the experience of being in space rather than reducing it to a matter of vectors and obstacles.

“There is a spare console, here,” Jim said to Spock, indicating the seat left of the center.

Spock accepted it, found the activation bar that powered it up.

Jim stood beside Spock’s seat, watching over him as Spock made his way through the unfamiliar system, pulling up each status and settings screen.

The bridge functions Spock had listened to with interest were now happening around him. Course adjustments, ship system adjustments, sensor issues. Spock changed to a nav screen, adjusted the angles until he could see their course optimally, aimed just off from the heart of the Federation. He raised his head and compared the display to the stars visible through the upper wrap-around window. He could pick out the major astronomical bodies in the area, match them up visually.

Jim’s hand came to rest on Spock’s shoulder, not possessively, but in rapport.

“I’m going to check on the other new crew,” Jim said to the first mate.

A few crew stared at Spock after the captain had departed, but eventually returned to their work.

Spock remained on the bridge. He navigated the sensor readouts in the ship’s systems, one screen at a time, but touched nothing. An uncomfortable number of the readings were in the yellow warning zone and had been since the units were installed. This seemed partly to be due to mismatches in equipment.

Jim returned half an hour later. “What is our travel time to Pirantha?”

“Five and a half days.”

Jim stared at the navigational display a long time, deep in thought.

“Any further word on the Federation ships?”

Fizzy said, “They were last near Lapsisx System. Flying seven hundred million klicks apart. That’s all I could find out. Two very big ships. Scanning everything and everyone.”

“Did they actually stop anyone and board them?”

“A few.”

A woman in the very nose of the ship said, “Captain, what are we going to do?”

“We’re going to stay ahead of them. They can’t stay in the zone long without touching off an incident that I’m sure they’d prefer to avoid. This zone has been neutral for decades, for good reason.”

Jim sat at the center console, staring out. He paid no attention to Spock’s activities which were well in his view. Spock put up the mapping display and tried to estimate the location of the Federation ships. Their top speed did not exceed that of the Calypso, but their sustained top speed most definitely would, given the number of warning zone sensor readings he’d seen.

An hour later Jim tapped Spock on the shoulder and he followed him to his cabin.

The cabin had been altered. A shear cloth had been draped around the room. It glowed white edgewise, gray along the face, and looked nearly black in wrinkles.

Jim said, “Sensor distortion cloth. Better than sensor blocking fields, since it doesn’t trigger a manual search.” He lifted up a lined cloak that was draped over the desk chair. “This is for you to wear on the bridge. I’m sure you’d prefer to be warmer anyway. Can’t line the bridge, it would cause havoc with the equipment.”

Spock touched one corner of the material. It was extremely thin.

Jim said, “It bends the sensor beam so that what reflects back appears to be very small or very thin, sometimes appearing to be only a few molecules thick. If someone is doing a lot of cursory scanning, they’ll have filters on their results. If they are looking for a metric ton of something and only see a brick of it, or a sheet of it on the sensors, they’ll let it go. No one looks at the raw sensor data to realize the discrepancy.”

Jim stepped up to Spock. “If someone is looking for, say, an adult half-Vulcan and they are scanning the fifty ships that are in range, the sensor system will throw away a bounce that has a signature of a half-Vulcan, but that appears to only occupy a fraction of the appropriate volume of an adult. Now, if they are scanning only this ship, someone will review the raw data, and we’re in trouble.”

“You believe the Federation ships are looking for me?”

“I do.” Jim stepped around the cabin, paced back. “It explains why your father didn’t make transport arrangements. Did you notice?”

“I did. I did not understand it.”

“Understand it now?”

“Perhaps. However, my safety is not worth the Federation provoking diplomatic or military difficulties with any of the space-faring civilizations bordering this zone.”

Jim smiled faintly. “Ever consider that maybe your father isn’t being logical in this?”

“No, I would never consider that possibility. And he does not have that much power.”

“I think you underestimate your family’s influence.” Jim scratched his head. He sounded wry as he said, “I thought you seemed special. Now I know it.”

Spock said, “I was studying the charts. I estimate the Federation ships will finish their sweep and, to avoid entering disputed Ypysarian space, will turn back this way, toward the chain of ports concentrated along the roughly direct space lane we are following.”

“That’s why I’m following it. Because there are lots of other ships and occupied planetoids.”

“You are relying on this distortion cloth.”

“No. Not if there’s an alternative. It’s an emergency fall back.” He rubbed his neck. “I don’t know what I’m relying on. This is trouble at a level I’ve not encountered in a very long time. The alternative is to head for less traveled areas, but that will look more suspicious if we get spotted. One on one we are lost. We need the distraction of the crowd.”

“You could put me off the ship somewhere,” Spock said.

Jim turned and studied Spock. “I don’t want to do that.” His lips vibrated slightly. “If you want to stay, then I want you here.”

“I truly do not think the ships are here for me.”

“I heard you the first time. And that’s what I want the crew to believe. But I have to take action as if they are.”

“Acknowledged. And I would strongly prefer to stay. But I do not wish to bring you down.”

“I would if I were you.” Jim relaxed as he said this, sounded almost amused.

“Would you?”

Jim’s eyes went over Spock’s face. “Hell, I don’t know. I’d like to think I would.”

Spock raised a brow.

“I need to catch a bit of rest,” Jim said. He touched Spock’s elbows. “You’re in a tunic and trousers. That is absolutely no fun.”

“It is far more practical around the ship.”

“Not practical for removing them. I could undress you in two moves before.” He tugged on Spock’s sleeves. “Look at this.” Jim stepped back. “If you are my mate, you’ll have to take that off for me.”

Spock slipped off the tunic, laid it neatly aside. “You will have to turn up the cabin temperature.”

“I got you a warmer blanket. But only on my bed.”

Spock finished undressing and let himself be guided to lay down on his back. Jim straddled him on his knees, still clothed. He drifted a hand over Spock’s abdomen.

Jim snorted a small laugh. “You may be more my slave now than you were before.”

Spock did not reply. Jim ran his fingers over his edge of his pubic hair.

“Bother you?” Jim asked.

“Not if it pleases you.”

“I heard that undertone. You want to be the aggressor.”

“It is in my nature to be. The bands prevented it. You imprinted me during that window of opportunity.”

“And now? You don’t have them. Nothing stopping you.”

“My biology is overriding my impulses.”

Jim put both hands on Spock’s abdomen, slid them around. “I like this.”

He sat straight and pulled off his own tunic, then lowered himself to lay across Spock, head on his chest. His necklace chains slithered down and draped over Spock's chest muscles.

The human’s body gradually relaxed, distributing his weight more evenly. The cabin lights dimmed.

It was nearly twenty minutes later that Jim spoke. “I have to get used to the idea I can’t force you away, even if I try. And to hell with the Federation, and its lap dog, Starfleet.” He slid to the side, curled so his head pressed to the side of Spock’s rib cage. He fell asleep minutes later.


	19. Running

Spock walked alone back from the bridge. The vessel’s crew watched him pass, but no one interfered with his movements. He considered walking past the cabin and taking a look at the rest of the ship. But as he reached the cabin door he heard a raised voice and stopped.

Jim’s voice was at a normal volume, likely not audible to a human from the corridor. “It’s my ship. I make the decisions.”

The ship’s medical doctor, however, was shouting, “You’re going to get us caught. What the devil are you thinking with this course?”

“Running from something, Sawbones?” Jim sounded coy.

“You know damn well what my situation is, Captain Jim.”

“Relax. When have I ever steered this ship wrong?”

“You haven’t before but you haven’t had that overgrown telepathic elf for a roommate before now.”

“What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m just stating facts. Fact one, you have a high ranking Federation citizen in your bed who can invade people’s minds at will. Fact two, you have suddenly decided to make a beeline for Federation space. Half this crew can’t safely go to the Federation. You damn well know that. Including your’s truly.”

“Relax, Sawbones. It’s under control.”

“The hell it is,” the doctor snarled. “Tell me. What. You are planning.”

Spock heard the sound of sudden physical movement and triggered the door to open. The medical doctor had his hand around Jim’s wrist, was speaking close to his face.

Spock moved. He put the doctor against the bulkhead, hand shackling his neck.

“Jesus.” The doctor had Spock’s wrist in both of his hands, pried at it ineffectually.

Spock could feel the doctor swallow.

“The hell. You mate this thing.”

Jim leaned against the desk. “Let him go, Spock.”

Spock turned to Jim. Needed to verify that his command was uncoerced.

Spock turned back to the doctor, reddening under his grip. There was a purity to Spock’s actions that felt cleansing and he wanted to examine that longer.

“Spock,” Jim said.

Spock dropped his hand.

Jim crossed his arms. “Could have warned me about that mating thing, Sawbones.”

The doctor was rubbing his neck. “At his age, he should already have a mate. Can’t remate a Vulcan. Besides, why should I save you from your desire to fuck first and ask questions later?” He eyed Spock sharply. “You may think you’ve got full control of him, but you don’t.”

“I made him let you go, didn’t I?” Jim asked with casual menace.

“I wasn’t really threatening you,” the doctor said.

“I’m not going to get us caught, Sawbones. Go back to your dispensary.”

“I don’t believe you, but hell if I can do anything about it.”

He gave Spock one last glare and stalked from the room.

Spock waited for the doctor’s footsteps to fade. “What reason has he for avoiding Federation space?”

“He was running experiments on the side of a standard practice on Rigel 4 and they got out of hand. Caused a few permanent mutations, a lot of chaos in the ensuing panic. He didn’t stick around for the authorities to sort out who was at fault.”

Jim walked up to Spock, pressed him to the bulkhead with his body. Spock could feel his erection against his thigh through both of their clothing.

“I liked that,” Jim breathed into his face. “Makes me want to go pick a few fights in a dark market port bar just to watch you react. You move like a whip.”

Spock put his hands on the sides of Jim’s rib cage, pleased to feel the life pulsing through him.

Jim rose up on tiptoe, face close, chin raised. “You want me. Don’t you?” He pressed tighter. “You want to feel me beneath you, skin on skin. Feel me yielding to you.”

Spock swallowed. “I am no longer required to answer.”

Jim continued between kisses to Spock’s neck just at his jawline. “You want to press your weight down on me, hold me down. Press your sex into me.”

It was either Jim’s own arousal or his words, but Spock’s body responded as his mate intended. Jim ran his hand down to stroke Spock through his clothing, shifted to trap his erection beside Spock’s and pressed them even tighter together.

Spock had a realization with no reasoning to back it up. “You are teasing me.”

“It’s working too.” Jim kissed him on the lips this time. Spock tried to respond to the kiss, but it felt meaningless except in the way it further excited Jim.

Jim’s hands worked their way under Spock’s tunic. “Next time you buy clothes they are all going to have zippers that go all the way down.”

“I am certain at one time you stated that anticipation was ninety percent of the pleasure.”

“I lied.”

Spock’s tunic was pulled up to his chest, his trousers were unzipped and peeled down to his thighs. Jim’s hand encircled his penis, squeezed, slid back and forth.

“You are extraordinarily hard,” Jim said. “It’s unreal. Here, you should feel it.”

He took Spock’s hand off his own side and pressed Spock’s fingers around his own erection.

Spock jumped at the contact, turned his head to the side. “Kroyk--”

He breathed heavily, felt his arousal melting away in a haze of alarm.

Jim looked up and down. “What the hell was that?”

Spock pulled his hand free of Jim’s, put both of them on Jim’s upper arms. “It is not proper.”

“Proper. Really?”

Spock exhaled, looked away.

“Proper?” Jim repeated.

Spock pulled in a long breath. “Yes.”

Jim pulled back. Ran his hand over Spock’s bare lower abdomen, clasped his softened penis. “You can’t touch yourself?”

“Not as part of sexual pleasure, no.”

“Why not?”

Spock hesitated, but this was his mate asking. “Full Vulcans are incapable of pleasuring themselves. They must sense the another presence.”

“But you aren’t a full Vulcan.”

Spock was acutely aware of the cool air on his naked midsection, of how his trousers bound his thighs. “No, I am not.”

“And?”

“And I was punished. I was quite young.” Spock wanted to stop talking, but he also wanted to be understood. It was incredibly important to be understood. “It was the only time my father was violent with me.”

Jim’s hands slid around his hips, down around his bare buttocks and grabbed hold. His own erection had faded and their softened genitals pressed together through Jim’s pants.

Spock felt extreme relief that he sensed no pity from Jim.

“We’ll have to work on that,” Jim said. “Because if you are the only Vulcan in existence who can self stimulate I want to see that.”

Spock raised a brow.

“But in the meantime.” He pulled Spock free of his clothes and led him past the desk to the bed, pressed him down on his back. He stood to strip himself completely this time and again draped himself over Spock, gradually relaxing.

Spock shivered. Jim pulled the heavy blanket over the two of them, rested his head on Spock’s chest.

Minutes later, Jim said, “I knew you had to be wounded.”

Then after another long pause. “You recognized it in someone else.”


	20. Sensors

Spock followed Jim to the bridge, took a seat at the console to the left of center.

Jim said, “Latest on the Federation ships?”

Fizzy turned. “The rumor mill is getting better the closer we get to Federation space. People with no fear apparently have nothing better to do than gossip. The Fed ships are headed roughly on the same course as us, but half a light year offset.”

“That’s a lot of firepower in one place,” someone said.

Jim said, “Best way to avoid anyone picking a fight with them. Which ships? Anyone say?”

“Hood and Enterprise.”

Spock turned, looking for signs of recognition that perhaps Jim’s father had served on one of them. Spock assumed that was why he had asked.

First Mate turned in his seat. “Captain, if I may. We, the crew I mean, did have a question.”

Jim tipped his head. Waited.

“Is Starfleet after him?” He indicated Spock with a nod.

Jim said, “Spock, what were you doing when we picked you up?”

“I was compressing large data sets for an astronomy project.”

“Are you worth two constitution class starships?”

“That would be a grossly disproportionate response to my absence.”

“Just seems coincidental, Captain,” First Mate said.

Jim pressed a few buttons, changed the display to show the star charts. The paths of the Starfleet vessels were shown as a fat double comet to indicate positional uncertainty.

“Coincidences do happen,” Jim said.

“Sorry, Captain sir,” First Mate said, glancing nervously at the others on the bridge as if hoping for support. “I don’t think we’re entirely satisfied that it’s a coincidence.”

“Let’s assume we have a Vulcan who is so valuable that two constitution class ships would be dispatched to fetch him, if needed.” Jim remained surprisingly calm for being challenged. “Why in the hell would they let him leave protected Federation space on a tiny little science vessel in the first place?”

Jim stopped, gaze distant.

He stood up. “First Mate take over the bridge. Spock, come with me.”

Jim stopped at his quarters for the chipkeys in his safe, went to engineering and appropriated a detailed close range scanner, handed that over to Spock. Marched to the storage bays.

He opened the locker cage with the sensitive equipment cases stacked inside it, filled with the equipment removed from the Vulcan science vessel. Jim pulled the first case out and opened it. Pointed inside.

“What is that?”

“That is high resolution high speed camera.”

Closed that up. Pulled out the next.

“That is a full spectrum measurement array.”

They went through all the cases from the Vulcan ship. They were all relatively ordinary things.

“Any of these valuable to someone?”

“Some of them are extremely valuable to the researchers themselves as they cannot compare measurements taken off another unit to those taken off these. They will have to dispose of the older data, which is expensive, both in time and money.”

“But they aren’t valuable to anyone else?”

“No. Only for the rare materials in them, which is of minor value.”

“Everything on your ship was some kind of sensor?”

“Yes. Everything.”

“No weapons of any kind?”

“Of course not.”

“You personally saw every device on the ship, and every one of them was some kind of sensor?”

“Affirmative.”

“Damn.” Jim moved as if to kick the closest open case. He huffed loudly and closed it gently instead. The two of them lifted and stacked the items up in the cage again. More neatly than before.

“That was ours as well.” Spock pointed at a unit parked by the opposite wall that was slightly too large for the cage. It was propped on rubber feet to keep the wheels from letting it roll. The cabinet had been pried open.

“Your crew must have done that,” Spock said.

“Engineering sometimes looks for parts.” Jim pulled the large broken cabinet metal front aside. It fell to the floor with a resonant clatter like a gong. “What is it?”

“It is a remote sensor.”

“How does it work?”

“I am not certain. I did not have responsibility for the data from this one.” Spock pulled out the scanner, pointed with his finger. “This is a subspace concentrator and projector. A very large version of what would be in a communications system.” He moved the scanner around, shook his head. “Do you mind if I power it up?”

Jim shrugged.

Spock found the power switch and lights cascaded on. The unit began to hum then fell silent, lights flashing.

Jim said, “Nothing else you had was internally powered.”

“Most everything we used was installed into the ship’s systems.”

Spock unfolded a series of small screens. “It has no data ports at all. Just these.”

Spock fine tuned several controls over and over as settings impacted previous settings. The screens began to coalesce, images faded in and out, perhaps recognizable shapes of everyday things, but they didn’t stay long in view.

Jim sat down on the deck, legs crossed. “What frequency range is it measuring?”

“It isn’t. It is receiving something like telemetry. It is most unusual.”

“What was your ship’s primary object of study?”

“Star formation in the Liko Nebula. Most unusual for an area of space of this age.” Spock shook his head and sat back. “There must be parts missing from this. There are slots here where they would go.”

Jim pulled out his communicator, talked to his chief, who assured him nothing was removed, that the unit was too strange to scavenge from.

Spock said, “This three dimensional array seems to be measuring this quasi-gel material which contains particles held in a state of quantum entanglement, which is a well-understood phenomenon. Not particularly interesting on its own. But somehow the subspace channel is involved.”

“Where is it aimed?”

“It isn’t anymore. That is what is so unexpected given how the unit behaves. And see here on this screen measuring the array: this is the basic design for a crude sensor array, but it isn’t reacting to anything present around us. It is in fact filtering out our current surroundings using this secondary shielding, here.”

Spock also sat on the deck, tilted his head. He was not accustomed to guessing, but he did so anyway. “It is as if it is using entanglement to read a distant array that has already been established over the subspace channel. But I cannot focus it. We don’t have the right equipment present to do so.”

“What direction was it aimed when the subspace components were in operation, do you remember?”

Spock sat back. “Do you have a star chart?”

“Shut this down, we’ll go back to my cabin.”

Spock did so. Placed the wrinkled cabinet back over it, and bent it back into place and forced it to latch.

In the captain’s quarters, Spock worked at the monitor standing up. “Approximately along this path. Based on the position of the unit in the ship and our location at the time.”

“We need to talk to your father.”

Spock stood straight. “We do?”

“Yes. Right now if possible. That line you drew goes by awfully close to the Klingon home world.”

Spock followed Jim’s urging and sat in the desk chair.

Jim said, “How secure is my private module? This can’t be intercepted.”

“Not very. Shall I alter it?”

“Yes. Then I’ll have the bridge put the communications array online so we can tap it.”

Spock rewrote the encryption to use a better method and added a hook to use his family’s private encryption key. He also deleted his additional code that kept the connection open.

“It is completed.” Spock prepared to stand. “Do you wish to speak to him yourself?”

“No. This is what you are going to say: Tell him we know why Starfleet is in this zone. Tell him if he can get the license cleaned up in three days, we will drop the item Starfleet wants at a secure Federation border port in a secured warehouse so they can pick it up. Then ask him if he knows your ship was set up to spy for Starfleet. And suggest maybe he should look into that.”

“You are certain?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. You came to this part of space to get an unobstructed shot for that subspace beam to set up this entanglement sensor. Now that it’s established, it doesn’t matter where it runs from. Distance and angle no longer have an impact. Starfleet intelligence wants to use that to spy on the Klingons, but they must have that unit back. It’s the one containing the entangled particles.”

“I understand your technical argument, but given my family it is indeed possible the Starfleet ships are here for me.”

“Officially, I’d believe that. Did you volunteer for that mission?”

“Yes.”

“Are you certain? How did you get involved?”

“There was a presentation at the Vulcan Science Academy and the funding organization invited a few prospective scientists and technicians to another meeting.”

“You were selected for that second meeting by whom?”

“I do not know. I was not told.”

“And you were convinced by that meeting to volunteer?”

“It was a prestigious project and I was surprised to be selected for further discussion.”

“Spock, I think you were roped into the mission to provide cover for rescuing that device, if necessary. Starfleet could always claim to be rescuing you, instead.”

Spock raised both brows again. “You should play my father at chess sometime.”

“It would be a real change in my circumstance if that ever happens.”

Jim had the bridge give him access to the subspace array through two relays, the best misdirection that could be established this close to Federation space in a short time.

Jim said, “That’s not hiding much, but if we dock and the license is good, he’s going to know exactly where we are anyway.”

Spock waited while the connection tried to establish to the transmitter at the other end.

“What’s the delay?”

“I do not know. The call is marked from me. I would assume it would be attended to directly.”

Sarek’s image came up. “Spock.”

“Father.”

“You are much closer. Are you well, still?”

“I am as well as I can be,” Spock said. “But I must enquire about progress with licensing the ship.”

Sarek became more stoic. “That has been difficult. There is no legitimate owner currently. The registration system has certain minimal requirements that even with our influence I cannot change.”

“It is imperative that it be completed in three days.”

Sarek said, “The only way to accomplish that is to register the ship myself after filing to transfer ownership.”

Across the desk Jim’s eyes went wide. He reached out and pressed the mute.

“The hell.” He rubbed his face. Lowered his head to the desk edge. Held it there. Raised it. “I see what he’s going with this. It solves the problems with fixing the license. No one would question a new registration. Especially to someone like him.” He rocked his head side to side. “Fine. Get a verbal agreement from him that he won’t assert his rights as an owner.”

Spock stared at him in surprise.

Jim waved his hand. “Go on. We can’t get caught by Starfleet. If we do I lose you and the ship. This way I keep the ship, mostly, and keep you. Key thing is offloading that damn sensor somewhere safe so Starfleet gets off our backs.” He un-muted the monitor.

Spock said to his father. “That is acceptable as long as you agree not to assert your rights as owner.”

“I will as long as nothing illegal happens involving the ship.”

Spock looked over. Jim nodded.

“Agreed. There are a few other things I must communicate,” Spock said. “Firstly, the thing Starfleet wants will be offloaded to a Federation border station and put into bond at a secure warehouse. The keycodes will be sent to you to forward on to them.”

Sarek’s brow rose, indicating he no idea what Spock was talking about.

“That brings me to my second point, Father. Were you aware that Starfleet was using our science vessel to establish a mode of spying on the Klingon homeworld?” Spock waited. “I see not.” Spock smiled faintly, could feel his brows twisting in amusement. “Did you really believe Starfleet was putting that much effort into looking for just me? Did they tell you that was the case?”

Spock laughed lightly. “Did you believe them?”

Sarek spoke slowly, “You are not well, Spock.”

Spock interlocked his fingers in front of himself. “When I lost the bond to T’Pring I lost some of the anchor I had to Vulcan. But I am quite well.” Spock looked at him. Had a clear realization without any concrete evidence for it. It was pure insight, something alien to him. “You informed Starfleet of this communication. That was the delay in connecting.”

Spock looked up. Jim nodded. Reached for the switch. Spock waved him off.

Spock said, “When you speak to Starfleet, Father, ask them about subspace arrays and entanglement sensors. Ask them why such a device was on our peaceful science vessel. I’m sure they will be in contact with you shortly. Tell them nothing will be said again regarding it if we are left untouched.”

Spock hit the switch himself.

“You have a ruthless streak, Spock,” Jim said with pleasure. He brushed Spock’s hair off his ear. Laced his hand into the hair on the back of Spock’s neck and tugged on it.

Jim said, “I’m going to the bridge. Come along?”

“Yes. Please.” Spock stood as soon as he was released.

On the bridge, they each took the stations they’d vacated.

Jim said, “Change course for Joint Station. Best speed. We may need to push the envelope a little on the warp engines.”

First Mate said, “Joint Station? We can’t dock there, can we?”

“We’re going to see if we can. No one has to get off who doesn't want to. I realize many of you can't.”

The bridge crew looked at each other, made faces of surprise, went back to their jobs.


	21. In Sync

Jim returned to the cabin from going about the ship, speaking to his crew individually. There was an unusually fatigued slope to his back. His gaze was in the distance, only coming gradually to the immediate surroundings.

He approached Spock at the desk, stood close beside him. He looked over Spock’s shoulder at the component readings Spock had collected on the display to watch for any critical systems going into the red during their overwrought run to Joint Station.

Jim brushed a finger over Spock's right eyebrow, over his ear. Ran his fingers down his hairline to his neck. Loosened the collar on his robe to trace his collarbone. Spock watched Jim's expression grow reverent.

"Occupied?" Jim asked distractedly.

"Not at this time."

"Come here, then."

Spock stood into Jim's personal space. Jim took Spock's arms, rubbed them once, and led him to the decorative wood framed bed opposite the desk. 

He expertly unhooked and slid Spock's robe off, hung it on the bed frame in one smooth movement. Despite having all of Spock to chose from, he put his hands on the sides of Spock's face, held that way while fixing their gazes. The human did not give off an aura of hot lust as he usually did. He felt of something akin to desperation.

"I want you to be pleased," Jim said. "Even if it's only for a day."

"I am pleased."

"I think you are only pleased relative to the life you had before."

Spock felt the cool cabin air seeping through his skin. He ignored it. "I have no other basis for measuring my situation."

Jim rocked up on his toes and put his lips over Spock's. Spock mirrored Kirk's movements, accepted his tongue into his mouth. Jim's arms tightened around him, rubbed his bare back in circles.

Jim pulled back, tugged off his own tunic. He urged Spock to sit on the edge of the bed and straddled his lap still in his trousers. His hand slipped down to Spock's genitals, cupped them, seemed to weigh them. 

Spock expected to be teased again with notions of being the aggressor, but he was not. Jim's patient stroking urged the blood vessels to dilate. His penis grew heavy. Spock closed his eyes to narrow in on the sensation of Jim's expert touch, the scent of his own arousal.

Jim released him. Put his sex scented hand on the side of Spock's face. "Lie back."

Spock did so, propping himself on one elbow. Jim rose up, fetched something from the alcove. He stood before Spock and stripped off his trousers. His darkened penis bobbed before him as he picked Spock's feet up and put them on the bed.

He sat beside Spock's knees and bent over him. The body-warm chains from his neck drifted over Spock's thigh. Kirk's wet mouth closed over Spock's straining erection, which jumped at the contact. Jim slid his mouth down over him with torturous slowness. Spock's penis tried to jump again but it was fully enclosed so the reaction made his abdomen twitch instead. 

Jim held just Spock's glans in his mouth, watched Spock's face as his tongue circled. It felt to Spock as if the reaction in his genitals might melt his organs.

Jim continued until the needfulness in Spock had overfilled him, forged his penis into skin covered stone, became a single overriding fixation in his mind.

Jim let go and Spock moaned in half mad disappointment, lifted his hips seeking more.

"I love that sound," Jim whispered. He reached for the lubricant. "Close your eyes. I notice you can't bear to see me touching myself either."

Spock rested completely back. Closed his eyes, felt the air chilling the wet aching hardness at the center of him, listened to the fleshy forbidden sound of Jim stroking lubricant onto himself.

Spock opened his eyes. His left leg was lifted and bent almost to his chest, turning his hips to the side. His hips were pulled to the edge of the bed. Jim reached a hand up under Spock's bent leg to grasp Spock's erection, squeezed hard and stroked with his teasingly slippery fingers.

Jim pressed bodily closer. His breath touched Spock's side. His fingers explored Spock's anus, the head of his penis joined the fingers, was guided into place. Spock released the shielding on his mind, felt Jim's sexual hunger, but tempered this time by a desperate need to be precise.

A long moment passed where Jim's left hand continued to stroke Spock and his glans bumped against his anus.

"Are you close?" Jim asked with a voice that seemed to come from deep in his chest. "Should I suck you more?"

It was illogical but Spock's penis jumped just at those words. "I do not know how I have not already burst open." His own voice sounded husky and strained.

Jim pressed into him, glans and shaft intruding relentlessly. Spock again felt cleaved open, hopelessly revealed and spread apart in a way that could never revert to normal. Overlaying this was Jim's excruciating relief at penetration not just sexual but emotional.

Jim pulled out and pressed in again, matching his thrusts to his strokes on Spock's erection. Spock let out a breathy choking sound at the bombardment of his senses, all wired directly to the core of his mind, bypassing any possible discipline.

The pleasure built higher, blurred. Spock was both penetrator and penetrated. He was both the guilt ridden aggressor and the fully pleasing mate. He feared he might die or choke before he found release. 

Jim's orgasm released Spock's. Spock heard himself moan in unison with Jim at each thrust. His testicles jetted, relieving the clenching pressure distorting his body through the only possible outlet.

Jim shifted his body over Spock, angled himself to get deeper, thrust harder, pleasing them both with a heightened sense of completion that bled away the last of the pressure over a long minute of degrading rhythm.

They were both empty, quivering. Spock turned onto his back, welcomed Jim on top of him, chest to chest. Spock breathed deeply in and out, which shifted Jim's weight, reinforcing the sense of contact.

"Feel better?" Jim asked.

Spock inventoried his internal tensions and found them quiescent. "Yes."

Jim sounded groggy. "I thought that might help get you in sync. I could feel a bit of you, too. Were you in my mind?"

"I was experiencing what you were. But only what was on the surface of your mind. I did not meld with you. You were much less controlling than the previous time."

"You were sucking off my mind that time too?"

"Your need for control the previous time matched my own. I satisfied that need in me as well as I could using your experience."

Jim shifted upward. His breath tickled Spock's ear. "And this time?”

Spock rested his hands on Jim's shoulder blades. "You have reduced my need for control already. But I feel changed again. My desire is in line with yours. How did you know that combination of stimulus would have such an effect upon me?"

"Same instinct I use for everything."

Jim rubbed his head around on Spock's chest. Stopped and propped his head on his hand. "This may be the last time we lie together. Tomorrow I throw myself at fate and the Federation and see what she says I deserve."

After several minutes Jim raised his head more, trailed a finger over Spock's collarbone. Fell thoughtful a long while.

"I broke the cardinal rule. You can only keep hold of one precious thing. And for a pirate, that's a ship."

"And you agreed to give that away."

"Not entirely. I actually trust your father's word. Which might be a first. But there was no choice. When you have to survive exclusively by your own wits, with no hope for assistance, you have to take the only way out of a bad spot, no matter how unsavory it is. The alternative is to lose everything."

Jim shifted up again along Spock’s body, rested his head on the pillow beside Spock.

"What's the worst that can happen?" Jim sleepily said. "They'll take me, turn my mind to jelly, verify there is nothing left of me, and let me go."

"I believe you exaggerate. But yes, you would be altered."

Jim's back stretched tense under Spock's hands. Spock massaged the many layers of his muscle until it softened again and Jim lay lax.

"I will not leave your side," Spock said.

"Assuming you have a choice."

"I am special, remember?"


	22. Joint Station

The lining of sensor distortion cloth made the hooded cloak slither over Spock's hair and clothing every time he moved. Jim wore the same shiny tunic with decorative edging that he wore on less savory ports.

The commercial goods transit area of Joint Station was housed in the structure's underbelly. Spock thought it best that the entanglement sensor not be put through the transporter so they docked near a small specialty bonded warehouse. The sensitive equipment cases were stacked on a hovercart. The entanglement sensor, under a dust cover, was rolled behind, pushed by the warehouse's porter.

The porter directed the boxes and sensor to be expertly stacked in a cage and had Jim set a keycode for the content's release.

All of this was finished with rapid efficiency. Jim signalled the Calypso's bridge to transmit the code to Sarek in an encrypted message. 

Instead of heading back to the access corridor along the outer skin of the station, Jim strolled the other way. Spock followed, matching his seemingly uncaring step.

Foot traffic increased and a few turns and long cage-lined stretches later they were in a dim, gritty area of commercial stalls. Jim wove his way casually through the bustling traffic, and stopped across from a set of steel steps surrounded by a flashing red lightbar.

Jim stared at this. An Andorian in coveralls went up, passing a tall human with blonde hair coming down. 

Jim turned. "If you want to go, that's an alarmed ID exit. I can't pass through. I'm officially dead."

"I do not wish to go."

Jim studied Spock's face several times over. 

Jim said, "I need some noodles. Want some?"

Of the myriad scents close by, one richly warm one came from a shop down a short side corridor demarcated by red paper lanterns.

Jim sat at the outside edge of the counter and pressed buttons for their order, selecting vegetable broth base for each of them.

He patted the stool in front of Spock. "Have a seat."

Overhead, the screens showed port activity. Ship listings, news feeds, ships hanging in the stark light in the exterior views of the station.

Steaming bowls were placed before them. Spock wondered at the delay in departing for the Grey Zone but picked up the chopsticks and spoon instead of inquiring.

Jim ate slowly, eyes passing over those doing the same around them, long haul spacers killing time between runs. Spock kept his cloak hood up, which didn't attract any curious attention in the diverse crowd.

A group of three wearing gray coveralls were louder than the rest. They had wired neuronets under the bald skin of their scalps and the unplugged wire interfaces tucked into their collars. 

"Woo. They're comin' in hot," one of them said, head tilted back to see the monitor overhead. 

On the screen displaying the traffic control, two large blips had appeared and dropped out of warp well inside the station's local traffic area. A red note came up on the screen, indicating a spacezone halt to all traffic.

Jim reached for his communicator, got his First Mate. With casual ease, Jim said, "We're going to be here a while. Flush the tanks and the air scrubbers. Might as well make use of the time."

A few haulers glanced at Jim, glanced at the monitor. Frowned.

First Mate sounded displeased. "Aye Captain."

Jim signed off and returned to his noodle soup.

A few minutes later, Jim pushed his noodles away and stood up. Spock, who could not possibly consume such a large container of liquid in one sitting, willingly did the same.

Jim made his way back on a parallel aisle between the cages, pace increasing once they were away from other spacers.

Through the half filled cages on the row to the right, it was clear there was a lot of activity near the cage they'd hired. Jim slipped down a crossing aisle and stopped short in the shadow of a cage full of draped items. 

Eighteen Starfleet officers and crew were surrounding the cage with the equipment off the Vulcan ship, waiting on the porter to open it. There were twelve redshirts, most with hands resting on their belted weapons, four blues, and two gold, including a tall man with a wedge-shaped buzz cut in Captain's braids.

"Not very stealthy. Are they?" Jim whispered. He leaned back against the cage post behind him. Crossed his arms, brows low and discerning.

Everything from the cage was loaded onto hover carts to give access to the entanglement sensor. The blueshirts ducked inside, scanners in hand. After some discussion and nodding the large unit was clamped onto hover bars.

The red shirt with the most braids directed the others to secure the surroundings. His eyes scanned the area, locked on Jim. His square jaw set and he reached for his weapon.

Jim didn't move. He held the security chief's gaze with dispassion.

The equipment was floating out now. The security chief gave a signal to the captain, started to approach Jim and Spock.

The captain called the security chief back by name. Repeated it when the man hesitated. The chief stepped backward back to his personnel, directed them ahead as the equipment was propelled out of the warehouse. Glanced back one last time before the dimness obscured them.

The cage was closed up again and the porter shuffled off.

Jim turned to Spock. "He recognized me. Any idea how?" 

Jim leaned out to check again in the direction the equipment had vacated. The usual background noises of air pumps, slamming cages, and shouts of porters could be heard.

"That is likely my fault," Spock said.

Jim leaned back hard against the cage pole. "Did I underestimate you worse than I thought?"

"Yes." Spock raised a smug brow. "My father likely overheard your story of how you ended up in a life of piracy."

Jim raised a matching brow. "Does that mean I'm no longer officially dead?" Jim raised an accusing finger. "Is that why you kissed me?"

Spock nodded gravely.

"Hm," Jim grumbled. "At least I don't have to explain myself to your father. Now that I am essentially working for him. Speaking of which, given that fate has demonstrated unequivocally that I'm in the clear with her, we need to earn some credits so I can buy your father out. Or buy another ship and leave him this one. That might be easier because it cuts the need for negotiation."

"Was that the meaning of your actions just now, testing fate?"

"If I don't tempt fate on my terms she might whack me on hers." He smiled. "We're good apparently."

"You intentionally waited until the Starfleet vessels arrived?"

"Spock, we weren't going to get out ahead of them. They were too close behind. And you issued an ultimatum to your father, remember? One he undoubtedly passed on to Starfleet who passed it on to the captain of the Enterprise." Jim tilted his head back. "Federation's a crazy place. Where everyone keeps their word."

"I informed my father that we would remain quiet about Starfleet's activities if we were left untouched."

"It was brilliant and worked because your father, and Starfleet, knew you were smart enough to understand that sensor. Here we are, untouched, legitimately docked." He rubbed his hands and looked around. "This will take some getting used to. And maybe it will be easier to run a legitimate ship if I'm not a ghost."


	23. Amends

On the bridge, the tension of the last days had dissipated. The crew returned to jesting and insulting each other. They ignored Spock now, except for coordinating changes to the consoles. They were still docked, performing maintenance, hours after Starfleet had departed the area.

Jim was standing beside Spock’s chair, casually rubbing his shoulder while reviewing system statuses.

“Captain,” said Fizzy. “There is a connection request from Vulcan.”

Jim squeezed Spock’s shoulder, said gently, “I assume that’s for you.”

Spock rose, intending to take it in the Captain’s quarters.

“Want company?” Jim asked.

Spock shook his head.

In the cabin, Spock sat at the desk and powered on the monitor. He had to utilize the longest of their family encryption keys to get the connection handshake to complete.

Sarek came on the screen, appearing stern. “Spock. The captain of the Enterprise informs me that you have remained with your captors. Apparently willingly.”

Spock was grateful that a simple answer was sufficient. “Yes.”

His father considered that. “I see. Has the pirate captain complied with his side of the agreement? The Orion devices are removed?”

“Yes. They were removed before the agreed time, on Idra Nineteen, where the expertise was available.”

Spock felt strangely calm when he would have expected to feel panic or shame carrying on this conversation.

“The captain must have trusted we would comply with our side of the agreement.”

“He did."

Sarek straightened. “I must ask why it is you intend to remain.”

“I find, Father, that I am pleased to live outside the constraints of Vulcan society. I am discovering that I like who I am outside those constraints and I have exceeded the tipping point where it is now illogical to return to living under previous restrictions.”

“That is the only reason?”

“It is the primary reason. Another is that I am able to greatly expand my skills here on this vessel. In the last few days I have learned to run the basic functions of the bridge control stations. I realize that before now, I have been highly restricted in what I was allowed to learn and accomplish. I was steered to do what was useful to others, not what was interesting to me. I was pleased with my assigned work at the Science Academy only because my possibilities were so limited that anything with any novelty seemed stimulating.”

Sarek looked just slightly away from the camera. “It is almost a decade to the day that you requested permission of me to apply to Starfleet. I perhaps did not give the idea proper consideration.”

“It would have helped.” Spock looked away from the monitor as well. “Obeying you in that was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I had to destroy part of myself to do so. Between that and T’Pring's distaste constantly eroding my mind, it was a bit like living while dead.”

"Then my decision was in error."

Spock never imagined he would hear that. And he felt little vindication.

Spock said, "In short, I am well into the process of reclaiming who I could have been on another path. I am not prepared to give that up."

"The Calypso will from now on shift entirely to legal work?"

"That is the intent. I have made it a requirement of my presence."

Sarek's voice became less firm. "If you return home, Spock, you have my permission to apply to Starfleet Academy."

Spock met his gaze through the monitor. "It is too late, Father. I cannot depart."

Sarek sat back just slightly. "I see."

Spock expected that Sarek was too proper to ask for details. But he didn't let it go entirely.

Sarek said, "T'Pring petitioned T'Pau for permission to break the bond when you failed to return with the others, citing your absence and the extended delay to marriage she had already experienced. I expect you had some difficulty when the bond was severed."

Sarek was looking for an explanation that he could accept, that was proper. Spock said, "I had some difficulty initially. It turned to relief." Spock avoided appearing anything but factual, but it pleased him to say that.

"I see. You did attempt to inform me in the past that it was not an efficacious match. But you had been pleased when it was initiated. I distinctly recall that."

"Because I wanted to be Vulcan and to please you."

"Are either of those true now?"

"They are of far less importance."

Spock thought, witness how easy this conversation is.

Spock said, "I will always seem quite Vulcan around humans. I do not intend to entirely give up on emotional discipline, but I am retaining only what is useful to me, personally. I am not going to adhere to disciplines and mores simply because I have been told I must do so to remain socially fit within a group that I need not belong to."

Sarek steepled his fingers. "You do seem to have engaged in complete self-analysis."

"I have had a great deal of time to do so."

"Your mother will be distraught to hear of this. Perhaps you can explain it to her directly."

"I can if we can be granted complete privacy."

Sarek nodded and turned from the screen, defeat in the lines of his bowed head. Spock had not intended to damage his father, only free himself.

"Father."

Sarek returned to the center of the screen.

"I do not intend to dishonor you. But I cannot be what you wish me to be anymore."

"Obedience is a fundamental part of being Vulcan, my son."

"Then dishonor is inevitable. I do apologize for that. I know you have always done what you believed was for the best. It is simply that it is now impossible for us to agree on what that entails."

"Perhaps we can agree on that, Spock."

Spock felt his lips twitch. "Indeed."

"I will fetch your mother. Perhaps we can also agree that she should be hurt as little as possible by your decision."

"Yes."

When she came on the screen minutes later, Amanda's eyes were darkened the color of human blood, but she managed to sound level.

"Spock, my son."

"Mother. I am unharmed. Your concern is unwarranted." That sounded like something his father would say. "I wish to remain here, Mother. Even though I am now free to leave."

"Your father would not say why."

"He is too polite to verify my situation. I have found a mate, Mother. For the first time in my memory, I am happy. I have no desire to give that up."

Her face took on a new tint of pain. "Tell me about your mate. She is among the pirate ship's crew?"

"It is the pirate captain, himself."

"It is not common among Vulcans," she said. "Although it is in the old stories. But do tell me about him. Something better than what the rumors say about him."

"It is true that he is a challenge. But I find that a pleasing change from Vulcan restraint, which renders everything flat and mundane. He can be moody or solicitous at different times but I find this unbridled humanity fascinating rather than distressing as I was brought up to find it. And he is willing to adapt to me as I adapt to him. Unlike Vulcans where we would have both already been worn down to acceptable nubs of stone, incapable of offending each other except in madness."

"If that is your view of it then I don't wonder you are happier. Your father in raising you Vulcan stated to me that in doing so we were offering you a choice. On the theory that to have the option of being full Vulcan you must be one from the beginning. To choose human you need only give up the mantle of Vulcan."

"I have not given it up, Mother. It makes me far stronger than those around me. But I have done away with restraining myself from pleasure, from appreciating giving another pleasure."

Amanda tilted her head. "Bonded Vulcans are not so different. You never elevated your betrothal bond and found that better place."

Spock felt an icy dread in his chest just imagining that. His mother appeared so ernest.

"I am pleased to be free of T'Pring. She had grown to loathe me, which was a constant degradation on my spirit."

Her voice softened. "I did not realize."

"I did not wish to distress you by informing you. I was supposed to be strong enough to always make it work. If it was a thing of the mind, it was always my weakness. Another way Vulcan discipline to the exclusion of nature now seems illogical to me now that I have some distance from it."

She clasped her hands before her. "I am pleased to be assured by your demeanor that you are clearly thinking for yourself and not being coerced."

"The only thing coercing me now is my biology. And I am growing more sanguine about that as I become familiar with my nature."

She fell quiet, seemed to be composing a difficult question.

Her voice was low when she spoke. "Spock. Are you in love?"

"I cannot know. I do not know what that emotion is."

She appeared pitying. "Then it is not true that you were given a choice between Vulcan and human."

"I do not require so stark a choice. I am a hybrid, and I cannot miss what I cannot comprehend."

She dropped her head. He had been attempting to assuage her emotional pain but appeared to have accomplished the opposite.

"I wish you to expend no worry for me," Spock said.

"You must cease to be my son for that to be true." Despite her words, her face brightened.

Spock said, "That I do not intend. And I am regretful that my father feels dishonored."

"We made choices as well, Spock, without being able to predict the impact they would have on you. Your father is taking his frustration out on Starfleet for their subterfuge about your science mission. I think he will be of calmer mind when he is through with them."

Spock smiled. "I see."

Her voice grew reverent. "I have not seen you smile since you were three." She straightened, became reserved again. "If you are choosing your own way then I can be pleased with your situation. I feared you were still a prisoner of sorts and that I could not bear."

"I am far less a prisoner than I was the previous decade, Mother."

This was perhaps the wrong thing to say. She lost her reserve and appeared pained again.

"Forgive me, Mother. I am still learning how humans work."

She smiled faintly. "You were taught to be honest." She straightened again. "We will have to come and see you. If you are willing."

Spock imagined the bemusement of his mate at such a meeting, and said, "I would be pleased by that."

\-------- 8888 --------

Jim looked up sharply when Spock returned to the bridge.

"How'd it go?"

"As well as possible."

“Everything’s settled?”

“Affirmative.”

Jim gave Spock a smile that only teased at his lips, but shone from his eyes.  He turned and stood with his shoulders back, chest out, looked out at the station beyond the forward lens of windows.

"First Mate, you can freely pass outside the transit area. Why don't you go scare up some business for us? Escort work of some kind, preferably to a planet suitable for a short break."

The first mate stood up, buttoned up his tunic and tugged it straight. "Someone legit?"

"As legit as possible."

First Mate rubbed the bald top of his head as he walked to the door to the bridge. "So. No one knows the Calypso. We rarely use this ID. When someone asks who we are or who you are, what should I tell them? Should I tell them who you are?"

Jim leaned on the console beside him with an air of easy uncaring. He looked straight at Spock. "By all means. Tell them the Silver Pirate."

\--------  
FINI  
\--------


End file.
